"Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness." - Maya Angelou
Buster died this morning.
Buster is my iPod. My 80 Gig iPod that only had 4 Gigs left.
Perhaps it is because I anthropomorphize so many things in my life, but I feel like I've lost a friend. No, I don't have strange and salacious feelings for inanimate objects; I just think I'm lonely in general and not having Buster to keep me company on my walks to class or to listen to in the car reminds me that I am, in fact, lonely and alone.
This semester hasn't been anti-climactic or anything. There was nothing climactic about about returning to Cedar, about taking more undergraduate classes, about feeling like I'm stuck. People that I love have moved away and are doing different things - and I'm here. "X" moved. "Y" left. Our Dear Girl is off having adventures. My family isn't here. The few that are left I rarely get to see, or we go through the motions of a facade, for the sake of a pretense of a relationship.
I'm disappointed about so many things too. I had a crappy weekend preceded by a frustrating and sleepless week. I'm disappointed that I haven't connected with another person, or even God, in a long time. I'm disappointed in myself that I can't find balance and that for all my ranting about not needing a man that I still very much want one - and I'm disappointed that opportunity let me down too. I feel like I'm drowning in my classes. Every time I walk into the English building, no less than two people immediately ask me for something or where something is.
If I said that I was mourning for Buster, I'd be lying - Buster is the simulacrum of my loneliness and at the same time, a shield from it.
I'm tired. I want a good cry, but I'm blogging at work and they already think I'm weird. I want someone to crawl in bed with me and hug me til I fall asleep, because sometimes waking up by one's self is a lonely feeling, but I'll go home and sleep by myself tonight - Buster-less.
Today, perhaps, is just a bad day spawned by a bad week.
This weekend will be better. I'll turn 22. And even though I don't like even numbers, I know that it'll still be a good day. I know that I'll keep on until I too can cast off the chains I feel by being here, but still, today is a bad day.
5 comments:
Perhaps the purpose of reading, the only objective it truly teaches us, is how to be alone.
Oh my dear girl. I am so sorry that we feel so far away from one another.
I think that literature not teaches us how to be alone, but can sometimes be a terrible reminder that we are alone.
You are without us physically, but remember that the air that you breathe each morning has traveled from very near my heart right into your very soul.
If I could, I would buy you another.
Love and hugs and coke slurpees.
May Buster RIP.
Sarah...
My heart is sad for you. (But also a little proud of you for writing a moving piece. Aren't Englishy people strange?)
I am excited for when I come back. Hopefully I can help you out, even if it is in some small way. I love you lots and miss you the same.
My new one is an 80 actually, and being that you named yours I have decided to name mine too. I am naming it, If You Touch Me My Owner Will Puncture Your #@!%ing Ear Drums So You Can Never Listen To Music Ever Ever Ever Ever Ever Ever Ever Again.
I just don't know the gender yet.
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