Almost Two Months Later, But It Was Worth It

What am I talking about? Gogol Bordello. So Very Much Worth It. I felt alive, and scared, and happy, and crazy, and one in a mass of people... which at this time was wonderful.

Now it is midsummer. The evening breeze from the ocean began about an hour ago, but the heat still rises from the blacktop and radiates from the brickwork walls. I have done nothing these past few days... have left my apartment only to walk down the hall to get the mail, and once last night to take out the trash. I know it is bad. I know it is dangerous just to keep myself cooped up in a studio apartment with little mobility room. Just sitting here with my laptop, or watching DVDs of ER at night.

I don't speak to anyone face to face, and very rarely on the telephone. Only when I need to say something to checkers at the market, or a rare hello if someone passes by on one of my few trips outside. I guess it's like being entombed, in a way. And every day I am a little more afraid of people out there... a little more afraid that I cannot communicate correctly anymore (not that I was ever stellar to begin with). I am afraid of going to interviews and being found terribly lacking simply because I don't converse well vocally. Because I am fat. Because my clothes don't look wonderful on me.

As a result, I stay indoors more and more... shying away from the human contact I used to crave. Wishing on stars that I had a special someone in my life, but knowing I'm no Rapunzel. No prince is going to come down the alley to ask me to pull him into my rooms.

Someday, I will go back out, and I will again speak to people. And someday... yeah, "someday my prince will come", only I will be able to invite him through the front door. And then, almost two months after all of that has begun, I can look back on finally breaking out of my tomb and say to myself it was worth it.