After a year of mostly being isolated, I thought the “return to normal” activities I would most look forward to would involve people. As I write this, there are 12 other people in this house; I can hear them talking and laughing; loading a dishwasher, closing bags of chips. It is storming, a torrential rain common for Florida that will probably end by the time I finish writing this. But I am alone, sitting in the craft room that is serving as my bedroom for the duration of my stay, my legs propped up on the arm of an oversized chair, sipping moonshine gifted to me by one of my favorite people. This feels like a moment I would describe as perfect—writing, large comfy chair, homemade booze—but I feel on the verge of tears, a mood that seems to always inhabit my soul when I spend too many days with a large number of people. Contrary to what it probably seems like to anyone that has noticed I am gone, the name of this affliction (which is quite common) is not “What Is Wrong With Alecia.”
Hello/Goodbye
Hello/Goodbye
Hello/Goodbye
After a year of mostly being isolated, I thought the “return to normal” activities I would most look forward to would involve people. As I write this, there are 12 other people in this house; I can hear them talking and laughing; loading a dishwasher, closing bags of chips. It is storming, a torrential rain common for Florida that will probably end by the time I finish writing this. But I am alone, sitting in the craft room that is serving as my bedroom for the duration of my stay, my legs propped up on the arm of an oversized chair, sipping moonshine gifted to me by one of my favorite people. This feels like a moment I would describe as perfect—writing, large comfy chair, homemade booze—but I feel on the verge of tears, a mood that seems to always inhabit my soul when I spend too many days with a large number of people. Contrary to what it probably seems like to anyone that has noticed I am gone, the name of this affliction (which is quite common) is not “What Is Wrong With Alecia.”