so very alone…

Yesterday, I vowed publicly that I would go talk to “Jane,” and I soon regretted that decision. Towards the end of the day, my hands were sweaty and I had used the restroom four times in the last hour. At 4:45, the appointed hour arrived. I was thinking at the time that it would be much easier for me to storm Omaha beach on D-Day than to go talk to Jane. Sure, Germans would be riddling the beach with shells and machine-gun bullets, but at least I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone, unless I needed to shout “Medic!” but it seemed like that would come naturally.

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Before the work day ends, I am going to walk straight over to Jane and talk to her. I’m looking at it like I have no choice in the matter. If I don’t talk to Jane today, you can let me have it.

Isolation score: 3

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We’ve been getting incredible amounts of snow this winter. There are areas of my city that don’t have power, but I’ve only lost power a couple times, and only for a little while.

Today I looked out of my kitchen window, which looks out into the condo complex’s playground area. There were a couple of kids there, making a snowman. They were playing great together, one of them rolling the bottom part, one of them rolling the middle one.

It was such a nice scene that I wanted to see it a little closer. I put on shoes and a coat and went outside, standing on my porch and watching them.

I think I had been watching for maybe five minutes when their mother came outside — shoes on, no coat — and yelled at the kids to come inside. The kids weren’t finished with their snowman, and begged to stay out for a while, but she did the “stern mother” voice that most kids recognize as final.

The kids trudged inside, while I still stood there, watching.

As the mother went in, she looked over at me, made eye contact, and shook her head, “no,” twice. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes were angry.

Then she closed the door, hard.

I’m pretty sure I’ve just been told to keep my filthy hands off her children.

Isolation Score: Infinite

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I just spent forty minutes sitting on the steps that lead from my condo’s entryway up to the bedroom area on the second floor. I did this because I couldn’t think of anything better to do.

The rest of the weekend looks like it could easily be just as exciting.

Isolation Score: 8

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I should have waited to come back to work today. I should have waited for Monday, when everybody is coming back. It wouldn’t have been so noticeable.

Here’s what happened. I saw Jane in the break room, getting some coffee. She asked me where I’ve been for most of this week, and I knew I couldn’t tell her that I’ve been in my bedroom for three days. Or was it four? I can’t remember.

I couldn’t even believe that she had noticed I was gone. I think maybe she must like me. That must be why.

So I had to make something up on the spot. I told her that I had been in Las Vegas.

Her: "What for?"

Me: "I like gambling." This was an idiotic thing to say, because I don’t know anything about gambling.

Her: "Really? I love poker. I play online all the time."

Me: "Yeah. I should try online poker sometime. It would be a lot cheaper than always flying to Vegas."

Her: "I’ve never been to Vegas."

Me: "Huh. I have to get back to work."

Is it possible she was hinting that she’d like to go to Vegas with me? That’s what it sounded like.

Probably not. If I had a better story ready, I could have used it to start talking about something interesting. Like I could have told her I went camping in Arizona or something.

Or I could have found out where she’s from and said I was there, visiting old friends.

I need to start learning to play poker, IMMEDIATELY.

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I’ve had enough of my room. I have a television, a radio, a computer, and an icebox stuffed with food, but that’s not enough. I need more. So I’m going to go back into work tomorrow, or maybe the next day. When I’m away for long enough, I fracture my rhythms, making the first day back unbearably painful. The lighting is odd. The cubicles smell like tuna fish. People are either staring at me or acting like I don’t exist. And I may have to talk to people.

I’ve already mentioned the “hi” vs. “hello” stress, which I realize is absolutely ridiculous. I know that. But just knowing something is stupid doesn’t mean you can change it. Whenever I have a conversation, even a simple exchange like that, I replay it in my mind dozens of times. Most of the time, I’m replaying the conversation while it’s going on. A few years ago, for example, I used project bonus money to buy a boom box and brought it into work. A co-worker named Conrad got on the elevator with me. My heart pounded as I stared at the numbers and pressed the close button six or seven times.

Conrad: “That’s a big boom box.”

Me: “I know it’s too big. It was on sale. It was actually less expensive than the smaller ones. It has a good sound though. Good enough. I’ll use headphones.”

Conrad: “Relax, dude. I’m not a cop.”

Me: “Sorry.”

Conrad: “You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

Me: “Right, sorry.”

I’ve never been so glad to see elevator doors open. As evidenced by the fact that this conversation happened several years ago, you can tell I didn’t exactly let it go. Conrad seemed like a friendly guy, so instead of my normal monosyllabic reply, I just started blabbing. Blabbing uncontrollably. It was like a conversational brown-out. Where did that come from? If I could edit what I say in real time, here’s how the conversation would have gone:

Conrad: “That’s a big boom box.”

Me: “Damn right it is.”

Conrad: “Cool. Want to join us for lunch?”

Me: “Whatever. Sure.”

Isolation score: 9

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It’s either late at night or early in the morning. My room smells like a terrarium. It’s too cold outside to open a window. I have this odd feeling that someone is going to knock on my door in the middle of the night. If you think I’m going to answer, you’re crazy. OK, the computer is going off. Time for some shut-eye!

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I can’t deal with going into the office today. I’m staying home. In fact, I may not leave the bedroom. I’ve got a little fridge here, which contains milk and beer. And some yogurt, although the yogurt is pretty old. Not sure whether yogurt can go bad.

I just checked. It does have an expiration date, so I guess it can go bad.

But anyway, I’ve got a box of Honey Bunches of Oats (I hate the name, but I love the cereal), a bowl, a spoon, a six-pack of Corona, several unused personal days, and the Sci-Fi channel to keep me company.

I’m staying in.

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I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I was replaying, over and over in my mind, my encounter with Jane yesterday.

I can’t believe I said "Hi," when she doesn’t even know me. I should have gone with, "Hello" instead.

The thing is, though, that ship has sailed. Since I said "Hi" last time, I can’t exactly go back to "Hello" the next time I see her, can I?

But it’s clearly too early to move on to something like, "Hey."

She’s probably laughing with her friends about how I said "Hi" to her yesterday, like I’m some kind of greasy leisure-suit wearing lounge lizard, trying to pick her up at the office with the oldest line in the book.

Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just nodded.

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Fifteen minutes ago, I took a chance. I said "Hi" to an attractive woman in my office. Her name is not really Jane, but that’s what I’ll call her for now, unless things get serious, at which point I’ll reveal her real name, because at some point pseudonyms are too tricky to remember.

Here’s what’s great about this encounter, and why I’m writing about it now:

She said "Hi, how’s it going?" right back!

I said, "Good, thanks," and kept walking down the hall. I wanted to say more, but I wasn’t prepared.

If I handle this right, Jane may be the one!

Isolation score: 2

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