so very alone…

Bad things tend to come in twos and threes, and I’m beginning to suspect that good things come in fives.

First of all, I recovered from the disastrous first date B. and I had without the damage I expected to incur. And in fact, it led to a second date. Tonight, in fact. I have to say, though, that the possibility of an actual relationship made it impossible to sleep last night. What will I talk about? I really don’t know. I really have no idea whether B. likes sci-fi, or video games. I wonder if I might be able to talk to her about racquetball. That seems like a more typical “guy thing” a non-geek might talk about.

I feel fuzzy-headed, but I’ll take a nap later in the day. I don’t have anything I have to do today, except go and buy some new deodorant and aftershave. I’ve let myself go a bit lately.

Second, I got The Orange Box in the mail from Amazon.com yesterday. I am now spending every available moment playing Portal. This might be the best video game ever created. I already got to the end of the game, where I got to hear the end credits song — which I immediately recognized as something Jonathan Coulton could have written. A few moments with Google showed me that in fact he did write the song.

Anyways, I’m playing through the game a second time right now, this time trying to destroy all the security cameras as I go through. If you love action / puzzle games and have a sense of humor, I can’t recommend this game strongly enough.

Third, I have gotten an interview with a bank’s IT department. Monday. The upper end of the salary range is lower than what I used to make, but to tell the truth I’m willing to take a lower-paying job just to get past the anxiety of unemployment. I can keep looking for a better job once I’m working again.

Fourth, I got the Bloggie award. That’s validating. I wonder if I could start selling advertising on this site now. I’m not sure what kind of ads I’d sell, though. Ads for dating services, maybe? Ha.

And finally, I had an excellent conversation with my sister yesterday. She called, and I answered her questions directly and without rancor. Although when I say “directly,” you shouldn’t assume that also means “truthfully.” Which is to say, I told her my job is going fine, and that yes, I am now seeing a therapist and am making good progress. I was tempted to tell her about B., but I knew that would just bring questions and probably disapproval.

The total conversation duration was nine minutes, a new recored for brevity. I believe I will tell her her exactly what she hears from now on.

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You know what I really like about not having anyone to see, or anywhere to go, or anything to do? I really like that I can wear the sweatpants I’m comfortable in, every day. And I can wear the two shirts I really like (they’re identical, except in color), wearing one of them for two days, then wearing the other for two days.

Then I do a load of laundry. And I never have to fold clothes, I just take them straight out of the dryer. And I never have to gather dirty clothes up, because when they’re dirty I throw them directly in the washing machine.

Then, when my sweatpants and both shirts (and socks and underwear, which I am careful to change every day, thanks for not asking) are in the washing machine, I run a load as I go to bed, then throw them in the dryer when I get up. By the time I’ve finished showering and have had breakfast, I’ve got a week’s worth of clothes ready for me again.

This is a great system. Several times, I’ve been tempted to throw all the rest of my clothes, hangers, and my dresser drawers away. Then I remember I can’t do this forever, I have to start looking for a job soon.

I know I should be working on my resume right now. But I get sick just thinking of job interviews.

It’s no fun always feeling alone, but subjecting yourself to the scrutiny of a job interview hardly counts as a friendly get-together.

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It’s been a long time since I’ve had a landline; a cell phone is all I need. But while I was away on my gambling spree or since I’ve been back, I’ve misplaced my phone.

I kind of suspect I left it in my hotel room. I’ve checked online, and no minutes have been used, so it’s probably in the hotel lost and found.

But I didn’t realize it was missing until yesterday, when I went to order a pizza. I couldn’t find it, so I ordered the pizza online.

Here’s what not having a phone means to me:

1. It means I have a great reason for why I’m not getting any calls. For all I know, all kinds of people are trying to get ahold of me, and they just can’t, because my phone’s missing.

2. It means I have a great reason for not telling my sister that I’m unemployed. She has never, even once, emailed me, so I don’t have to worry about her trying to check up on me that way.

Once I get my resume updated and start sending it out, I’ll get a replacement phone. Meanwhile, I’m discovering that not getting calls because you don’t have a phone feels a lot better than not getting calls because you’re not a fun person to talk with.

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Last night, I wrote about what was going on with me at the time, which was that I was still thinking about LOTR.

Today, Ashley commented to my thoughts on LOTR with the following:

…[Y]es, i did try to get harlan a dog but i in no way think he is dying to talk to any of us. i don’t even know why he reads any comments or has this blog other than the fact that he enjoys his self pity. i think harlan needs help. he is a depressive or an agoraphobic or something. i care about what happens to him because he is a human being and we all feel the way he ALWAYS feels some of the time. but i’m bored reading this because all of these strangers are trying to give harlan advice and all he does is blow it off so he can bitch and moan about not getting laid and living a life uncomfortable in his own skin. harlan, do you ever read the news? do you know that iraqi children can’t even play outside for fear of being blown up? or that women in saudi arabia are beaten and sentenced to jail for being gang-raped? i’m over this blog. you’re too selfish and self-obsessed to recognize there is a world of REAL problems out there, other than someone like you CHOOSING to life a miserable life and die alone because you don’t want to get help.

Since Ashley says she isn’t going to read my blog anymore, I guess it doesn’t really matter how I reply to her, because she won’t see it.

Of course, I’m probably a lot different than Ashley in that any time I’ve written a flame comment in a blog or newsgroup and said I’m not coming back anymore, what really happens is I start coming back about ten times more often, because I want to see how people react to my flame.

But then, if someone does reply to my comment, I’m left in a pickle. I can’t reply back because I said I wasn’t going to come back anymore, even though I have a really great comeback.

Sometimes, I log in as a different person and post that comeback in defense of me (”Hey, I think Harlan’s right because…”), to get around that quandary. I’m sure that’s something Ashley wouldn’t do, though. Because, as she mentioned, she is bored with me and over me.

So I guess it’s really lucky for Ashley that she isn’t at all like me, because if she were, she’d see my response below to her, and then she’d probably want to comment again, but would know she couldn’t, because she said she was over this blog.

So here’s what my reply would be to Ashley, if Ashley were here:

1. Ashley, when I’m bored of something on TV, I change the channel, but I don’t write a 200 word rant to the network. When I’m bored of a blog, I remove it from my RSS reader, but don’t leave a foaming, flaming sack of shit on the doorstep as I leave. Why should I? I’m bored. It’s not worth my time. You, on the other hand, went on and on and on about how I need help and therapy and your diagnosis of my mental health based on the teeny tiny window of my life I expose to you — in response to some observations I made about my favorite movie trilogy. That’s not the mark of boredom. That’s the mark of someone who needs to adjust the dosage of her meds.
2. Ashley, I may or may not know about current events and the trouble around the world. I haven’t told you. For all you know, I may give 25% of my net every month to the Red Cross and spend ten hours a week working at the homeless shelter. One thing is for certain, though: you don’t know me well enough to judge and scold me like that.
3. Ashley, we never made a contract — not even an informal one — that I would accept and heed advice. I write this blog because I want to. You are welcome to offer comments, but you if you feel like I betrayed you because I didn’t do what you say when you offered your unasked for advice, that’s your problem, not mine. If I want a dog, I’ll get one. And I don’t want a dog, by the way.
4. Ashley, when your parents told you to eat your vegetables because there are kids starving in China, did you ever wonder what that had to do with anything, or did you just accept the fallacy and dig in? I ask, because you are using the exact same argument on me. “Harlan, stop feeling bad because there are kids in Iraq who have a bad life, and there are women in Saudi Arabia who have a bad life, too.”
5. Ashley, I started this blog because I feel alone. I started it, by the way, about three months ago. I’m pretty sure you started reading it no more than two weeks ago. Did you really think that my life would change significantly in those two weeks — or even in those three months, just because I started a blog and got some great advice from you? Have you ever considered that some people take more than 90 days to get over a problem that’s been plaguing them for pretty much ever? Or were you thinking your advice would flip some magic switch in my brain, and I’d say, “Oh, that’s the problem!” and then turn into Matt Damon and send you a bunch of flowers with a nice card thanking you for fixing me? The sum of your advice, by the way, has been “Get a dog and get help.” You think I need therapy?! Wow, thanks for the epiphany! Nobody’s ever told me that before. I’m curious (actually, I’m not curious, that’s a rhetorical device): what major personal difficulties of your own have you resolved in the past couple weeks?
6. Ashley, I’m about 80% certain you are either my sister or her spiritual clone. You know, the sister I will do practically anything to avoid because she’s always nagging me to be more normal and get help and stop moaning and think of someone else for a change. My sister, by the way, is known by everyone in the world, even her youngest child who cannot yet speak, as a nag.

I guess it’s a good thing that Ashley isn’t reading this, or I’m sure she’d be pretty upset with me right now. But she isn’t reading this, which is just as well. Because I — unlike some people I know — realize that a flame mail / blog post / comment / whatever isn’t going to change anybody’s mind.

Here’s the thing though. This blog post perfectly illustrates why I don’t comment very often in my blog. I get all wound up and spend half an hour writing, rewriting, editing, second-guessing and fretting over my three line reply, which if I’m not careful winds up being a crazy tirade that misses the original point of the comment. And then I obsessively reload the comments page, waiting to see what the reaction is.

Basically, I don’t comment in this blog or in any of the 20 or so that I read daily because it would eat up my life. That doesn’t mean I don’t read your comments. I read all of them, usually several times.

You know what? I just realized something. I’m able to write stuff for this blog because I get to choose the topic. It’s like giving a presentation for work (which I hate, but I can do it if I have to). I don’t like to comment for the same reason I have a hard time with casual conversations. I don’t know what’s coming next and I don’t have time to prepare.

This was supposed to be a 10 line post. It kind of ran away from me.

Isolation Score: 6

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Most people think of weekends as being 48 hours long, but that’s because they’re not doing the math. In addition to all of Saturday and Sunday (48 hours), you also have Friday afternoon / evening (7 hours) and early Monday morning (9 hours) between when you end work on one week and start it the next.

That’s a total of 64 hours, not 48.

By the way, it’s currently Saturday, 3:00am. I’ve been sitting at my computer surfing the web since I got home. I read the news, checked out some Sci Fi newsgroups — I might try starting to post in a couple of those soon, if I can think of anything to say — and bought a couple books from amazon.com.

I love buying stuff from amazon.com. It gives me something to look forward to for the three days it takes for the packages to arrive.

Only 53.75 hours to go until I see another human being.

Isolation Score: 9.9

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