I’m lonely. Like, I’m so lonely that I’ve started a small animal shelter in the back seat of my Toyota. It’s only a raccoon right now, but I’m hoping to expand. I have my eye on the neighbor’s dog.
I’m so lonely I don’t even cast a shadow. That’s here just for show (gestures to spotlight shadow). You’re just here for show! (Screaming). Where were you YESTERDAY?!?!
I used to believe in love, but before that I used believe in God, so…
I’m pretty lonely. I’m so alone that it’s most of my last name. (Just add the ‘M’ for ‘ME!’) I’ve been alone for the lion’s share of 20 years, with 2 years is my longest relationship. So, I’m a master of loneliness. In my opinion, there are four levels:
LEVEL 1: “Gee, I wish that I had someone to share this with!” Or, as I like to think of it, “Youthful Optimism.” But, just give it time, three to five years alone, and those rosy cheeks and dimpled promises will wilt like daisies in the sun.
LEVEL 2: At two-to-four years alone, the light changes in your eyes and you begin to get desperate. I think it’s called ‘thirsty’ now, but they’re both just college speak for “so fucking horny that your ears are bleeding.” This is because your unused genitals are emitting a low-level hum, and it’s popped your eardrums, and now you’re partially deaf in both ears.
Regular sex will fix this right up, but, level 2, or as it will be now called, “I want it so bad you could put it in my ear,” is not the pinnacle of loneliness. Oh, no.
LEVEL 3: Ten years is 3,650 days. Ten years single is when you start questioning everything. That’s what you don’t hear about the fathers of Philosophy. They weren’t big thinkers, they were just really, really lonely, so lonely that they questioned their own existence. Ten years single is when you start wearing your steampunk cosplay every day. Or, as often as T-mobile corporate will allow.
It’s pretty ornate for a casual Friday, but your alter ego, Commander Cumulus Longfellow is part of who you ARE now. That’s the ugly hell of Level 3 loneliness. You ARE who you ARE, and you’re unprepared to change.
LEVEL 4: (Getting louder and louder…) After 10 years alone, the cute, ear-bleeding hum from level 2 has become audible to the people around you. Listen (slam mic into crotch while humming loudly). The existential crisis from level 3 has become full on nihilism- You don’t question who you are any more – you’re just marking off time until you’re NOT anything. You’ve given up on love, and even LIKE at this point. You have a Tinder, but it’s mainly to say bitchy things to well meaning strangers trying to get their genitals licked. They don’t know that idea of physical touch terrifies and intimdates you, and, now you’ve been alone THIS long, it actually causes you pain.
I know, I’m sorry.
Want to hear my vag hum again?
LEVEL 4 LONELINESS IS SIMPLY CALLED M’ALONE.
I'm Jane Malone.