I am to loneliness as a frog is to hot water. Slip me in and slowly turn up the heat, and I don’t notice until things are pretty darn hot.
My dad left town, then my mom left town, and my sister had kitty woes to attend to at home, and my brother had school and family obligations, and so I went for several days with minimal human contact and damn. Did not enjoy that feeling.
My brother came by today for a while and the moment he walked in the door I perked up. Happy frog instead of boiling frog. Plus I got to cook for him, which delights me.
It makes me wonder if trees get lonely. I tend to think not. They’re intimately connected to the earth; they have birds and spiders and ants; they have breezes and sun and rain. I don’t know, maybe that’s not enough. Maybe, like people, it depends on the tree. I’ve met unhappy trees, but I don’t know about lonely.
(Great, you think. She’s gone loopy from the solitude. But go ahead, I challenge you: put your hand on a tree and tell me it doesn’t have a mood.)
So now I know have to strategize for loneliness so that the temperature doesn’t rise too high without my noticing. Schedule interaction. (Chatting with the clerk at the grocery store does not count.) And I know not to make grand pronouncements about how content I am to be alone. Be careful what you wish for…