So.  I haven’t written in a long time, because I didn’t feel like I had anything to say.  I still don’t, not really.  But I’m kind of bored, so in the interest of oversharing, I’m writing anyway.

I’ve always considered myself to be a somewhat solitary person.  I like my own company, which has worked out well for me, because underneath all the jokes and the songs and the party girl persona, I’m kind of shy.  Kind of really shy.  It takes a long time for me to feel comfortable with people, and I’ve never been the kind of girl (woman? lady?) who makes friends everywhere she goes.  But I’m okay with that, because the people that I do let into my life usually turn out to be amazing.  Another part of my solitude is born of necessity-spend a little time traveling solo, and you will figure out ways to be entertained.  There are countless people the world over, in airports and restaurants and windows, who are going about their lives with no idea that once upon a time I studied their clothes, their faces, their body language, and conjured up my own version of their life stories.  (that’s right, cute business-suit guy in La Guardia.  I know you were talking on your Iphone to your secret girlfriend the whole time our flight was delayed.  Also, I totally saw you do the hand-across-face rub thing that was actually a nose pick.  Just saying.)

This is not to say that I don’t have a lot of amazing people that I love to spend time with,  but it doesn’t bother me if sometimes I go to a movie by myself, or eat dinner at a restaurant while I read a book.  (yes, obnoxious host/ess…that’s a table for one.  That’s right.  Just me.  Stop judging me and give me a damn menu.)  And in fact, there are times when you’ve spent 18 or 19 hours riding in a van with four other people, that you just cannot wait to part company.

So what’s the point?  I’m learning this week that I am not as good at flying solo as I thought.  For the first time in my life, I am well and truly alone, with nothing to fill in the blank spaces that I never knew there were so many of.  You see, a couple of months ago, I decided that I should move to Nashville temporarily, so I could try my hand at writing music full-time.  I went about the business of finding an apartment to sublet, and talked everybody around me into thinking this would be a good idea.  And as I am wont to do, once I get something in my head, I relentlessly pursued it until it became mine.  I did this despite the number of times in the past it has earned me something I would have been better off without.  This single-minded gonna-get-what-i-wantness has landed me college degrees (that I don’t use), careers (that are no more), record deals (that shelved me), boys (see albums 1-4 for THOSE disasters), shoes (nobody needs that many), and now, living arrangements.  So here I am.

The place is very nice, although it is capital N-O-T mine…there are no kitties underfoot, no husband asleep on the couch, no Jersey Shore screeching in the background while I surf the web and talk on the phone and read a book all at the same time.  My loved ones are in bed several hours away..it’s surprising what a difference even one hour makes time-zone wise.  No cable, no internet (also no complaining…I don’t think for a second that my lack of convenience is of any import whatsoever-just trying to illustrate for you exactly how very quiet it is here…) I’m almost to the point of hoping for a mouse in the house to keep me company, just so I can stop listening for the plant to grow.  In the absence of that constant contact with something..anything…I am finding out just how uncomfortable I am with silence.

Here’s the mental image for you of me, right now:  I’m wearing the pink flannel pajamas my mom got me for Christmas..they look like someone thought about sex, and then designed the exact opposite of that in a comfortable sleepset.  I’m lying in the teeny little bed..if I stretch my toes, I can tap the tap foot rails while my head is poking out the top. There’s a treadmill to my left that’s doing a killer job of drying my clothes for me.  It’s warm in here and I feel pretty safe, since earlier tonight I sawed a board in half in the bathtub so I could use it to block the sliding glass doors from opening.  I can see down the hall into the living area, but only because the lamp in there is on a timer that I don’t understand how to work yet.  Somewhere I can hear a clock ticking, which is extra weird since there aren’t any clocks here.  And boy, am I lonely.

Sorry if you read all the way to the bottom of this thinking there would be some kind of payoff..remember? Nothing to say. The point is, there is no point…sometimes I just want to write something down so I can prove that I existed in this moment.  And it’s kind of nice, when I’m feeling this alone, to think that wherever you guys are out there, you’re existing too…probably talking to your secret girlfriends on your Iphones and looking all hot in your suits.  But existing nonetheless.

Man.  I gotta go before I start singing ‘Somewhere Out There’.  (oops.  too late.)

xoxoxo

Marti