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Untitled 06

When I Googled “what do you do when you’re lonely?”, I knew I had it bad. Having scanned halfway through the generic ‘go out – meet people – indulge – solicitate prostitutes – volunteer in a soup kitchen – masturbate 35x a day’ responses, I heard the alarms of my own sanity, telling me how this is all an exercise in futility. Come on, if the internet had the answer to everything, we all wouldn’t be this deep in shit. We would be all deliriously happy, holding hands and skipping merrily and no amount of premium, grade-A crack will ever match the high. The interwebs will be our cyber-nirvana, and nobody will ever get off of it.

Loneliness. Its a fairly new thing for me. I’ve heard of it, sure, from other people. Some, even going crazy on its account. Personally, it is only now that I am experiencing it first-hand in all my 25 years. I’m basically a happy kid. So yeah.

I actually didn’t identify it as what it is. I tagged it ‘disconnection’ to everything and everyone else. It wasn’t until I was online and saw a photo of Macaulay Culkin (don’t ask what kind of kiddie porn site I was on — i forgot already) and saw how cute he was in ‘Home Alone’ that it dawned on me that my feeling of disconnection was actually just, yeah, loneliness. Its actually not that bad, I mean, some people I see on tv (mostly on Dr. Phil and Oprah and The Biggest Loser) have it as young as 8. So at 25, this is actually pretty normal. I should actually be happy, come to think of it.

But I’m not holding a banner saying so, or doing that stupid happy dance that I do. Because, to be really honest, this blows. Major suck, I’m telling ya. My internet browser history will attest to that. How did I come to this? I might not be the popular girl back then, but I have accumulated a group of friends whose detestable traits are compensated by their talent, bitchiness and love for alcohol and several illegal substances. But then, life happened. We grew up. And with that, came growing apart.

Oh. Bridget Jones’ Diary in on. The ‘The Hours’ of Lonely Women. The ‘Pretty in Pink’ of Girls Who Got Grounded on Prom Night. Holy.Fucking.God.

Well, not so long ago, I made a pact with myself to generally just weed out people who wear negativity as part of their wardrobe from our life. And look where it got me. Great going, Grace. But then again, as I told a friend (who’s a million miles away), I am not afraid to be lonely if the alternative is being with somebody who doesn’t really care.  I don’t want a friend who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. I am in a country where they say finding someone you can trust even to lend 100 bucks is a task so unbelievably daunting you will have better luck winning the lottery. Im sure that wouldn’t help.

If there is one thing that..

that…

that…

Bloody wanker. I forgot what I was gonna say. Damn movie and Beer. They Always Have This Effect of Nauseating Forgetfulness And Inappropriate Capitalisation of Initial Letters On Me.

So.

I’m lonely and shit like that. If you wanna grab coffee or something, send me a PM. If you make it worth my while, you might get yourself a nice acquiantance in me. It’s pathetic and I’m not even kidding. No perverts please. And, I can give you a ride, but you buy your own coffee.

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