so very alone…

I’ve always scoffed at New Year’s Resolutions. I’ve always known that people break their resolutions, and that using the new year as a time to make a change is really arbitrary.

And here I am, pretty much the same person as I was this time last year, with pretty much the same lack of focus. So this once, I’m going to make a reasonable number of resolutions. And I am going to then tackle them as if they were action items, given to me by an unforgiving boss. Here are the three resolutions to which I am resolved:

Resolution 1: Stop spending money on ridiculous things. On Christmas morning, I ordered a computer so far out of proportion to what I need that I have since spent several hours looking for software that will let me somehow justify this purchase. I could, evidently, open up a fairly nice feature film editing studio, or make the very best home movies ever. Except I don’t have anyone to film. I don’t even have a camcorder, unless you count my phone.

I know that I spend money on myself when I feel angrily alone. My mindset is kind of like, "Well, why shouldn’t I? Who’s going to stop me? What am I saving up for? Remind me sometime to tell the story of how I got my car. For now I’ll just say that learning what the initials "BMW" stand for was as expensive a lesson as I’ve ever had. Bavarian Motor Works, just in case you didn’t know.

Resolution 2: Lose 30 pounds. I need to lose more like 60 pounds, but that’s too much to lose in a year. I will do this by using the Slim-Fast diet, which seems very convenient and doesn’t require me to go to any meetings or meet with a counselor or anything like that.

Resolution 3: Make someone fall in love with me. I realize this is ridiculous. I can’t make anyone fall in love with me. Jane didn’t make me fall in love with her. I just did.

Just in case you’re interested, I expect that I will do a very good job with the first resolution until something really bad happens to me. I will also do well on the second resolution until I either get turned down or fail to have the courage to ask someone on a date.

Resolution 3 won’t ever even appear on the horizon.

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I fell asleep early last night and was wide awake by 4 am, my heart racing from a weird dream that I remembered clearly when I woke up but can’t recall now. I went in to work early because it seemed like the best thing to do. I got super tired after lunch and decided to take a ten-minute cat nap under my desk. Three hours later, I woke up. I swear to God I got better sleep this afternoon than I have in the whole last two weeks. I wonder how many people saw me sleeping there under my desk. At least no one painted my face with magic markers.

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Here is what I got for Christmas.

From Other People
Here are the things I got from other people for Christmas:

• From my sister: A $25 gift certificate to amazon.com. This is an excellent gift. I have credited the $25 to my account and will, the next time I make an amazon.com purchase, use that credit. I make, on average, an amazon.com purchase every four days. 
• From my father: A $25 gift certificate to Cabelas. This is also an excellent gift, because now I know exactly what to get my father for Father’s Day. Which is to say, I will send this card back to my father on Father’s day. He will like it a lot.
• From my company: A $250 bonus, of which $180 was direct deposited into my checking account.

Apparently, my company — which I have not quit, thanks for asking — likes me five times as much as my family.

From Myself
Here is what I got myself for Christmas:

• Mac Pro (Two 3.0GHz Quad-Core Intel Xeon)
• Both Bluetooth 2.0+EDR and AirPort Extreme
• Two 16x SuperDrives
• 750GB 7200-rpm Serial ATA 3Gb/s
• Apple Keyboard and Mighty Mouse
• 8GB Memory
• 750GB 7200-rpm Serial ATA 3Gb/s
• 4 x NVIDIA GeForce 7300 GT 256MB
• 2 30″ Apple Cinema Displays

This cost me a little more than $11,500.00, and should be arriving before the end of the year. I suppose you could say my credit card took quite a hit.

Also, you could say I like myself 230 times more than my family does.

Isolation score: 4

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I know better than to try to pretend Christmas isn’t happening. I’ve tried to avoid it and act like it’s just another day, but there’s a buzz in the air that gets under my skin. I know everyone else is opening gifts and munching on candy canes while I’m flipping channels and listening to music and playing chess online, all at the same time. The worst part of the whole deal is that everyone thinks that because I’m alone, I’m lonely. No, the worst part is feeling so alone. And insignificant. I watched the tail end of It’s a Wonderful Life, which used to bring me to tears because I could identify with the James Stewart character. Now I realize that we have nothing in common. If an angel showed me the alternate reality in which I was never born, I’m pretty sure he would be grasping at straws to find any differences. “Look, someone else is living in your condo. Oh, and look! Someone else is in your cubicle!” Big deal. Let’s face it, the world would be the same exact place if I didn’t exist. But I don’t want to be a downer. I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

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A while back I said that I’m the VP of IT at the law firm where I work, but then I admitted that’s not true. I do work in the IT department, though. That part is true, so it’s not that big of a stretch. And right now database programmers can new jobs easily.

I’m saying this because I’ve been thinking over this weekend: what if I just went into work tomorrow with a box, filled it up with my stuff, and emailed the HR rep that I’m giving two weeks notice, effective now? I could walk out of the building, gone without saying goodbye to anyone, out the door before most people drag themselves in.

Most of that two weeks is during the Christmas break, and nothing’s happening the other three days. I’ve got more than three weeks of unused vacation my company would pay me for, and I’m sure I could find a new job before my money ran out.

Right now, the idea of just vanishing sounds great. Maybe Jane would notice. More likely not, though. I can’t believe she asked me if I was going to the Christmas party, and then arrived with someone else. Except now that I write that, I realize she probably asked forty or fifty people that exact same question that day. Nothing personal about it. She was probably on the planning committee or whatever.

It’s not like I had a claim on Jane. I know that. She didn’t say, “Let’s start a romance together at the Christmas party,” or anything like that.

But something was off about the guy she was with. I didn’t like him. I mean, I thought he seemed too nice, like to everyone. Like he was trying to win a popularity contest or something. I mean, as soon as I ran into Jane and him at the party, he was asking all kinds of questions about me like he cared who I was. I wish I would have had the balls to say, “Look, you got Jane. I don’t have anyone. You’ve won. So will you please just shut the fuck up and let me have some peace?”

Saying something like that didn’t even occur to me until about two hours later, though. In real life, I just said I needed to go find some ibuprofen. Which was true, by the way. I am trying to be more honest.

Anyway, you can see why I am not thrilled at the idea of seeing Jane every workday for the rest of my life. Yes, she’s in IT, too. Project Manager. A really good one…it’s like she actually understands what I do for a living. You have no idea how rare that is.

Jane’s not the only reason I’m thinking of just quitting, though. Maybe she isn’t even the main reason. It’s the woman who kissed me at the party. I’ll car her Jezebel, because that sounds appropriately evil. Friday, I walked from floor to floor, through the cube mazes, looking for her. It didn’t take long, no more than ninety minutes.

I walked by her cubicle twice, seeing her on the phone. I acted like I was going somewhere each time. On the third pass, she was off the phone and said, loudly, “Were you waiting for me?”

Who wouldn’t be put on the defensive by that? So I said, “No, I’m waiting for the person in the next cubicle to come back. We have a meeting. He’s late.”

“She’s off for the rest of the holidays,” said Jezebel. Shit. Shitshitshit.

“Well, I wish she would have declined the meeting, then.” This wasn’t going right. I tried to change the subject. “I went to the Christmas party last night. Did you go?”

She looked at me with what I would call a vacuous, mean smile for about two seconds and said, “You’re here because I kissed you, aren’t you?”

“I felt it was only proper,” I said. When I had practiced saying that line while driving to work, it sounded chivalrous. Now it sounded like the most inane thing ever said.

“Proper? You’re so sweet. I don’t think anyone else has ever called me or sent flowers for a mistletoe kiss before!”

And she started laughing. So I laughed too. And then I said, “I know. I was just kidding. I’ll see you around.”

She started typing as soon as I started walking away. From the quick bursts of typing (one sentence of typing, a pause, another sentence) I could tell she was instant messaging someone. And I’m sure I know what it was about: the loser she gave a pity kiss to under the mistletoe who’s now following her around, all in love. That bitch.

I went to the mens’ room, shut myself in a stall, and waited for the shaking to stop.

I just don’t think I can go back and work there.

Isolation Score: 9.99999 (etc.)

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I was all excited about what I thought was a romantic moment at the Christmas party. It turns out the woman who kissed me did so because I was standing under the mistletoe. And let me tell you, it wasn’t exactly a fun experience finding this out. Maybe more later if I can get over my shame, which is too intense right now. I’m going to curl up on the couch and watch the director’s cut of Blade Runner. I sure hope none of the restored scenes have anything to do with Christmas. Isolation score: 9.5.

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Just when I’d gotten comfortable with the idea that I was fine staying home from the Christmas party, I knew I had to go because of this stupid blog. I washed my face and got dressed. Unfortunately, my vest was too small, so I had to wear only the suit jacket, which wouldn’t button up either, but it’s fine to leave the jacket unbuttoned I think.The pants were too small too, making it hard to breathe when I sat down.

On the way to the party, I had this odd feeling that falling for Jane was pushing Becky out of my heart. I felt like I was somehow betraying Becky, even though Becky has been married to someone else for years (my brother, in fact — don’t ask). I had some other thoughts on this subject that are too embarrassing to relate, so I’ll stop there.

As I walked up to the house of the party host — let’s call him Mr. Yale — I was impressed by its elegance. His house (it should really be called a mansion) was decorated for Christmas, but not with the red and green Christmas lights you see in suburbs. A wreath and a single lit candle appeared in every window in the front of the house, and strings of white lights formed a festoon between the top of the house and the gazebo. Inside the house was a large atrium with long, curved stairways on each side.

Jane was with someone.

I grabbed a drink from a server, stood with my back against a wall, and drank it quickly. I think it was a gin and tonic. Then I drank some spiked egg nog and a couple more gin and tonics or whatever drink that was. I sat down at the only empty table and tried to get control. As I was nursing my fifth or sixth drink and eating some kind of breaded roll-up, a couple of guys who just arrived asked if they could sit down. I waved my hand, and they sat down. One of them asked me a question but I didn’t understand it so I just took another drink and nodded.

Just then, Mr. Yale came up to us. One of the guys at my table said, “Nice digs, dude” and Mr. Yale chuckled. He chatted with those guys for a few minutes and then asked if we wanted to get out of there and shoot some pool. Those two guys got up. One of them nudged me and said, “Come on.” The four of us walked up the stairs, and then a fifth guy joined us. He was a buddy of the two guys who sat at my table. As we wandered through the hallways upstairs that led to the billiard room, I had a fleeting feeling that I was part of the “In” crowd. We were blowing off the main party to do something cool. The billiard room had a pool table, a foosball table, and three or four old pinball machines. There was also a big-screen TV on one of the walls. Mr. Yale fussed with a couple of remotes to find “the game,” cursed, and mumbled something about switching back to cable. They decided on teams, two and two, and one of the guys told me I “had winners,” whatever that means. The four of them were playing pool and yukking it up, and I felt like I was watching them play pool from 100 yards away. So I left.

It was time to go home. As I was picking up my coat downstairs, a woman I’d never seen before came up to me, grabbed me, and kissed me for what seemed like twenty seconds, only it was probably only a second or two. You know how when animals are confronted with danger, some fight, some run away, and some play dead? Well I play dead. I stared at the women. She laughed and touched my shoulder and walked away. No, she skipped away. My shoulder tingled where she touched me, and I could still feel her kiss on my lips all the way home. I know it sounds silly, but I didn’t want to drink anything because I wanted the impression of her soft touch to last.

I don’t even know her name. I can still feel her lips.

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I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Part of the problem was this stupid Christmas party that has my stomach in knots. But most of my anxiety is due to something I wrote a couple days ago. Yes, I was too hard on the Fat Cyclist. I was upset, and I wanted to believe he sent over some of the mean people who think it’s funny to treat me like some kind of clown. Ha ha, look at the nervous guy. I know I’ve gotten a lot of nice, supporting comments, but all it takes is one mean-spirited comment to wash away all the good feelings. So Mr. Fat Cyclist, if you’re reading this, I apologize. For what it’s worth, I like reading your blog about cycling. I’m envious. I sold my bike due to an unfortunate incident on the road, so it’s nice to keep in touch with people who manage to continue to enjoy riding bikes.

There’s also something else that’s bothering me. I told a couple of fibs. It’s no secret that my name isn’t really Harlan, but I don’t know why I wrote that other stuff. I’m not a Vice-President, I don’t earn $230k a year, and the only way I could retire is if I become a monk, which I’ve given serious thought to. Oh, and I’m not going to the stupid Christmas party tonight. I need to stop trying to be someone I’m not.

I’m so sorry.

Isolation score: 7

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It may surprise you that when someone mentions any kind of party to me, I’m relieved. Do you know why? Because I know that I don’t have to go to the party. I’m an adult now. I have my own job, my own money, and my own condo. When I was a kid, I was forced to go to parties. And not just parties. I had to go to church. I had to go to pep rallies. And once my mother dragged me to a circus, which was the single worst experience of my life, and not just because I’m deathly afraid of clowns. I don’t want to go into all that. Let’s just say I don’t like it when people are behind me, and leave it at that.

Tomorrow I’ll probably go to the Christmas party. I say “probably” because I don’t want to make any more public promises that will cause me to panic. I’m trying to relax about the whole thing. I’ll probably go to the party, and I’ll probably talk to Jane, and I’ll probably throw up in a plant. Besides, the Sci-Fi channel might have Battlestar Galactica reruns, and I wouldn’t want to miss that.

The party is at the CEO’s gazebo. If I go to the party, here’s what I need to do:

• Arrive early and explore the area to avoid surprises. 
• Take dramamine.
• Make sure I sit down next to a wall so that no one can walk behind me. This will help reduce my heart rate to that of a jackrabbit.
• Make a list of things to talk about with Jane. I’m currently reading about birds.
• Don’t have more than one drink. Some people say alcohol relaxes them, but it has the opposite effect on me. I lose my inhibitions a little bit, but as soon as I act on impulse, I become intensely aware of my behavior. So no more than one drink, two tops.

Now that I think about it, I’m better off just talking to Jane at work.

Isolation score: 3

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A couple weeks ago, I left a comment on a blog called “Fat Cyclist,” mostly because I identified with the idea of someone who wanted to be something (in his case, a cyclist), but who isn’t very good at it because of a personal problem (he’s fat.)

He retaliated, evidently, by making fun of me and linking to my blog.

What a hilarious joke. Guess what, “Fat Cyclist:” I am a human being, and don’t really appreciate being the butt of your so-called comedy.

The result is, I now seem to be getting quite a few comments in what I originally assumed would be a fairly private journal.

That’s OK, though. I have noticed that most of the comments are well-intentioned. For example, Briget has unfailingly left friendly and helpful remarks, though I notice she has stopped writing. Some are quite clearly mean-spirited, though. Leland, for instance, seems to think I’m some kind of buffoon, and probably pictures me as a guy from “Revenge of the Nerds,” with tape on my glasses and my pants too short. After all, anyone who’s lonely must be dweeb in search of a wedgie.

So, let me tell you a few facts about myself.

• I am the Vice President of Information Technologies at a large, successful law firm.
• I make $230,000 per year.
• I am successful at investing money to the extent that I could retire today if I felt like it.
• All of my clothes fit just fine.

I don’t know. Maybe I should turn comments off.

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