Solitude. It's important. Especially if you're me. Before I came to Georgia, time to and for myself was one of my priorities. I would schedule "dates" with myself on a regular basis to make sure this priority was met. Lovely dates with me and my pajamas and hockey games and meals from Whole Foods. And should it be that some group event got scheduled on one of these planned days... well, I was busy. I had important stuff to do. Sitting in comfortable silence, straightening out my mind. No bra. Farting whenever the hell I wanted to. And yeah, opening the champagne for mimosas at eleven fucking thirty if I damn well felt like it. Talking to myself in full voice unashamedly. Reading a silly novel cover-to-cover. Back home, my friends and I called such solitary indulgences "No Pants Days". And they were wonderful.
I realized today (while on the toilet, make of this what you will), that I have not been truly alone for well over seven months. And its starting to wear.
Sure, I am technically "alone" right now, freezing my tukus off in my borrowed/rented bedroom. But the good ole Georgian TV is coming through the floor as usual, and when I decide I'm a little peckish, it's not like I can go downstairs and just make myself a little something. Up here, I always feel a little bit like I'm hiding.
In the seven months I have been here, the whole family has left the house at one time exactly once. One afternoon, for a funeral. And even that ended up being not true, as Nata decided she didn't want to go and spent the afternoon blasting teen pop with a friend while I hid in my bedroom, just another normal day.
Travels beyond the realm of Poti have all been group affairs. They have all been awesome, but have not afforded much chance for alone time, either. During my summer trip to Tbilisi, I stayed in a hostel. No privacy there.
For the past seven+ months, it's just been people people people, all the TIME. I love ya all, but good Christ.
The night I got to spend at the InTourist Hotel in Batumi was divine, but that damn evening of solitude began at freaking midnight, and even then my roommate popped in a few times. I certainly do not begrudge her being in her own allocated hotel room, but it means that even that superb evening cannot be counted as true cocooned-away, quality alone time. It was not a No Pants Day.
And I need one. I need my Reset button pressed, big time. I am coming off the tail end of a prescribed period of convalescence following last week's digestive pyrotechnics,* and whether that has anything to do with it or not, my restlessness has kicked into overdrive. I need to be somewhere where I can take a true breath. Somewhere where no one can shout out my name. And adding proper heat to this senario would be a nice touch. Short of blowing $100 US on a hotel room, I just don't see that freaking happening.
And then, in complete polarity to what I just wrote, I also realized a few weeks ago that my life is missing something else. And it speaks to the incredible goodness of my family and closest friends that until I left them and came to Georgia, I never even realized it could be absent.
I miss affection. I miss basic human contact with loved ones. Hugging my parents goodbye at the airport was the last true embrace I've had. Sure, I hug friends here, but I think I don't need to try to hard at explaining how hugging a friend or friendly aquaintance is not the same as hugging your mother, or hugging someone whom you've known since you were 17 and who is now such a part of your life that he has become a part of your very self.
As a surprise to my own prickly self, I want a hug. A real hug. Solid and full-body, the whole shebang, the Real Deal. The kind I used to get all the time. Took for granted, even. Luckily, I know exactly where one is waiting, and we are three weeks and counting until I get the best hug I can possibly imagine.
If you think this post sounds a little like I'm whining, I probably would not disagree with you.
* Name the movie reference!!
I realized today (while on the toilet, make of this what you will), that I have not been truly alone for well over seven months. And its starting to wear.
Sure, I am technically "alone" right now, freezing my tukus off in my borrowed/rented bedroom. But the good ole Georgian TV is coming through the floor as usual, and when I decide I'm a little peckish, it's not like I can go downstairs and just make myself a little something. Up here, I always feel a little bit like I'm hiding.
In the seven months I have been here, the whole family has left the house at one time exactly once. One afternoon, for a funeral. And even that ended up being not true, as Nata decided she didn't want to go and spent the afternoon blasting teen pop with a friend while I hid in my bedroom, just another normal day.
Travels beyond the realm of Poti have all been group affairs. They have all been awesome, but have not afforded much chance for alone time, either. During my summer trip to Tbilisi, I stayed in a hostel. No privacy there.
For the past seven+ months, it's just been people people people, all the TIME. I love ya all, but good Christ.
The night I got to spend at the InTourist Hotel in Batumi was divine, but that damn evening of solitude began at freaking midnight, and even then my roommate popped in a few times. I certainly do not begrudge her being in her own allocated hotel room, but it means that even that superb evening cannot be counted as true cocooned-away, quality alone time. It was not a No Pants Day.
And I need one. I need my Reset button pressed, big time. I am coming off the tail end of a prescribed period of convalescence following last week's digestive pyrotechnics,* and whether that has anything to do with it or not, my restlessness has kicked into overdrive. I need to be somewhere where I can take a true breath. Somewhere where no one can shout out my name. And adding proper heat to this senario would be a nice touch. Short of blowing $100 US on a hotel room, I just don't see that freaking happening.
And then, in complete polarity to what I just wrote, I also realized a few weeks ago that my life is missing something else. And it speaks to the incredible goodness of my family and closest friends that until I left them and came to Georgia, I never even realized it could be absent.
I miss affection. I miss basic human contact with loved ones. Hugging my parents goodbye at the airport was the last true embrace I've had. Sure, I hug friends here, but I think I don't need to try to hard at explaining how hugging a friend or friendly aquaintance is not the same as hugging your mother, or hugging someone whom you've known since you were 17 and who is now such a part of your life that he has become a part of your very self.
As a surprise to my own prickly self, I want a hug. A real hug. Solid and full-body, the whole shebang, the Real Deal. The kind I used to get all the time. Took for granted, even. Luckily, I know exactly where one is waiting, and we are three weeks and counting until I get the best hug I can possibly imagine.
If you think this post sounds a little like I'm whining, I probably would not disagree with you.
* Name the movie reference!!
No comments:
Post a Comment