Debut

Very few things in life scare me. Actually, that is a lie, but as I am writing (as opposed to speaking) this, I get to utilise literary license (and tell as many lies as I want and call them 'exaggerations'). Where was I? Oh, right. I was telling you that I don't do scared. The only thing tough enough to frighten me is loneliness. But loneliness comes in all shapes and sizes and, contrary to popular belief, it breeds in large crowds, which is where I find myself this evening: on a plane surrounded by travellers headed for the arrivals' gate.

I used to love to fly; these days, though, my palms start sweating at the thought of take-off. Used to be that leaving the Earth was a reason to celebrate. Now I have to liquor up before going through security. (Speaking of whom, they had a few concerns this evening about my $12 in rolled coins; my mini-Streamline made them nervous, too.) Not that I mind drinking... any excuse, far as I'm concerned.

But what does being an alcoholic who carries school supplies around everywhere she goes have to do with loneliness, you ask? Pause. Silence. Sarcasm. Where was I? Oh, right- loneliness in crowds. Typically, I'm okay by myself (a good thing, considering how often I am), but travelling amongst hundreds of people I feel like an outcast. What concerns me most about feeling like an outcast is that I feel like an outcast. What has happened in the last année et demie to make me concerned about not fitting in? Two years ago I was living with hard-core, disapproving, but loving, Mormons when I shaved my head. Bald. I felt sympathy for my Aunt as she cried at first sight of me, but I never regretted it once. I'm playing the game now, but why so safe? And why even at all?

My parents were hippies. My mother brags (read: exaggerates) about the time she got arrested for protesting. My dad's claim to hippiedom is that he did a shitload of drugs. In 2000, they both voted for George Bush and this year they will vote for him again. What the hell happened? When (and why) did they start playing the game? And does my concern about feeling like a social outcast mean that I, too, am headed for the stadium?

I'm fairly certain my fear of flying is directly related to my fear of dying, but why so goddamn a-skeered of death? I usually fly solo, so why do I feel so lame for not having a friend to sit next to? And let me tell you: if it was normal for everyone to fly solo, this neurosis of mine would cease to exist; I would fit in. Ech. It's been since high school that I felt this compulsive need to belong. But needing to belong is what breeds this loneliness... or is it the other way around?

We're beginning our final descent now. I know this because the pen in hand is getting slippery again. If this entry makes it to publication, it means I survived another flight. It also means that you have just met me, eg muddy.