So much of my free-time (the majority of it, I’d say) is spent speaking gibberish to the cat. Occasionally: it’s coherent gibberish—or gibberish that kind of makes sense. But it’s all idiotic and it’s starting to worry me.

I think I miss having someone around to talk to. It’s a shame things didn’t work out with Kristen but I couldn’t force her to stay. And I’m not going to kill myself trying to convince her that we were a good match—because, I was thinking about it last night, and I really do think we were.

One thing I really liked about being with Kristen was that I could be myself around her. She was the first girl I can say that about. My other girlfriends—I could be myself around them for a while, but there would inevitably come this point where I, for whatever reason, would assume this “boyfriend” role, that simply was not me. With Kristen, though—whether it was because I made a conscious effort to maintain my sense of self or because she and I were naturally so chummy—I never felt this pressure. I noticed it occasionally, but it took little effort on my part to go back to being who I was. And I partly believe that she kept me in check. She never let me get too unbearable.

All my girlfriends have been smart. They were all smart but in different ways. I felt, though, with Kristen like we were smart in the same way—which is why I never felt a divide between the two of us. If I had a problem I could go to her about it—I could explain my situation without having to explain myself or the way I think. With my last girlfriend, I couldn’t do that. She just didn’t get me. She was smart. But we didn’t share the same sense of humor—and I don’t know why but that seems to be such an important thing in relationships. Because: if you and your partner find the world funny or ridiculous in the same ways that indicates on some level, I think, that you’re looking at the world through the same lens.

I don’t know. I’ve been really sad lately. Especially at work because I’m mostly by myself all night and the workload has dropped off considerably since Christmas. Sometimes, Butch will come down and that helps. But I’m mostly alone with my own nagging thoughts of self-doubt and regret and wishful thinking.

I’ve been hanging out with friends more lately. That helps, too. But when they leave, I’m back to talking to the cat—thinking about things I should be doing rather than doing them.

I came to the conclusion last night that I need to make an effort to go out more and socialize. I’ve made leaps and bounds these past few years in terms of stepping out of my shell. I am now able to carry on bullshit conversations at work with co-workers I know and co-workers I don’t—so, strangers basically. But it’s still pretty hard for me. I can start a conversation but I find it difficult to keep it going. I have to force myself to talk about myself because I’ve determined that’s how people have conversations. I’ve tried in the past only asking about the other person (which is what I prefer) but those conversations crash and burn quicker than anything. So, in an effort to be normal, I’ll wrack my brain for relevant anecdotes, if someone’s talking about a particular topic, and I’ve found that this usually does the trick—effectively bridges the gap and establishes some faulty foundation for intimacy. Here’s my story—tell me yours. So that—in this way, we’re trading personal information and the conversation isn’t completely one-sided. It’s exhausting though and just as quickly as I initiate the conversation I get bored with it. Not bored—I just wish it was easier to know people. I wish it wasn’t such a game of strategy. Like: we could just plug-in on some two-way feed and exchange Facebook stats. “Oh, you like this movie. I don’t. But I see, here, that you enjoy golfing?” That kind of thing.

My friends may not be the best people in the world. They may not always look out for my best interests. But I determined a couple years ago that I need them because this whole process of exchanging information and maintaining connections is easier with people I can talk to so freely—so easily. It comes natural with them. I can just exist in the same room with them and feel understood. It’s a very peculiar feeling. Just being around them—I feel like a plant absorbing all its vital nutrients and sunshine. Hanging out with friends gives me two hours or so to re-charge and prep myself (re-learn who I am and what my place is in the world)—we don’t even have to say anything or do anything worthwhile except, like I said, exist in the same room and feed off each other’s energy—like two cars of the same make or model and I’m always the busted one extending my soul’s jumper cables.

I don’t know. Is that lame? It’s how I feel. And it’s not that I’m dependent on people. I’m actually pretty content by myself. I love doing things by myself. I genuinely value my privacy. People have accused me in the past of being a recluse. But I don’t feel like I need to be around people all the time. I just have a fixed amount of time every week that I need to see someone or be around other human beings. Just being around people, in general, makes me feel better—like throwing open the curtains after being in the dark for so long and finally getting sunlight. That’s how it feels to me when I go out—to the mall or a bookstore or anywhere particular people congregate. I feed off their energy—the things they say—the speeds they move at and live their lives. It’s weird. But when I’m with friends, I feel like I’m spoiling myself. Because I get those feelings of being re-charged so immediately—with no effort on my part.

I don’t know.