The things we do to make ourselves feel better

Sometimes come with horrible side effects.

Like going to Central Park on a beautiful summer day instead of wallowing in your apartment, sad about your break-up.

There were so many couples and families out there in the sun. Having picnics, strolling hand in hand, just sitting without having to speak.

It made me feel so alone and ill-fitting and wrong.

A long weak

Also, a long week.

A First Date

If the world's a stage, then I'd like to tap the mic and ask, "Is this thing on?"

College isn't what it was supposed to be. I'm caught between being alone and accepting invites to cheesy dorm-sponsored social events where I'm forced to act like I'd never accept an invitation to smoke weed with the hottest guy in my hall, maybe in the entire freshman class.

His name is Samson, and he's dating my roommate. Well, fucking her. Now. While I'm in the room.

This is why I turned to Craigslist. Lefthand side. Personals. Men seeking women.

A title in the middle of the first page worthy of an ironic t-shirt caught my attention. "I'm a paleontologist. Wanna bone?" it read. The webcam guy in sunglasses seemed charming enough. And he liked the Museum of Natural History. I emailed my "hot" picture, a black and white profile shot.

A few short email exchanges later, Greg, a "33-year-old laidback guy looking for some casual company" agreed to meet me at the museum's main entrance at three. He was easy to spot - the only thirty-something without a stroller. He even had the same sunglasses on.

I walked up to introduce myself, braced for a disappointed look. Greg smiled and took off the battered Oakleys.

"Great to meet you, Allison," he said, grabbing my hand. He looked familiar somehow and when I realized why, I jerked my hand back.

"Oh, sorry!" Greg, my Geology professor, exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

I was not okay.

"Yeah," I replied weakly. "Uh. Sorry."

I had just touched the guy who will write my Geology final. It felt so dirty.

"It's a large survey class of hundreds of freshmen and sophomores," I thought. "He can't possibly recognize me."

"Let's go in." Greg smiled and held the door open.

Winding through the dinosaur skeletons, Greg and I spouted basic stats, or as they say in Honestland, first date lies. The biggest one being that Greg and I didn't know each other.

I told Greg I wasn't in college. He said he taught graduate level paleontology, instead of the elementary "Rocks are minerals, and they can have many textures..." drivel I'd seen the past three Tuesdays and Thursdays.

"Why paleontology?" I asked.

"The excavation process always fascinated me," he answered. Greg was cuter close-up than when he was sweating under stage lights with a laser pointer. "I love the puzzle of putting the bones together."

Then he asked the question I least looked forward to answering.  

"Why aren't you in school right now?" Greg looked into my eyes, and I quickly pretended to be absorbed in a placard about pterodactyl locomotion.

I'd planned on going glib, but I'm no theater major or minor. "I don't know what to do. It's cool you're interested in dinosaurs and that's your job, but I don't feel that way about anything."

Greg's face changed then, and his eyes got squinty. It was a look of recognition.

Panicked, I yammered on, "I can't think of a career so interesting that I could do it 40 hours a week, and it wouldn't feel like work."

"Look," Greg interjected. "I gotta be honest."

Oh shit. He'd caught me.

"I don't love everything I do. That's what makes it work. If people only did things they loved, everyone would just eat and have sex all day, right?"

I nodded, though I can only vouch for one.

"But I don't even know what major to declare," I answered. "College isn't what it was supposed to be...I think."

Greg stepped closer. I stepped back, skittish as a stray cat, and fell over a toddler who'd been crawling behind me.

"Fuck!" I yelled as I hit the marble floor. The little boy was more surprised than hurt, but started bawling.

His mom sprinted up to him, "Mommy's here, Tucker! Are you okay?"

I could feel the blood rush to my face. Maybe it was all the stares for yelling "Fuck!" at a family-friendly cultural institution. Maybe it was because Greg put his arm around my lower back and helped me up.

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm ready to go, though."

Fifty yards from the museum exit, we spied a cart. Greg headed that direction, and I followed. "What would you like?" he asked as he pulled out his wallet.

"I'm fine."

"You mean you don't want a bag of delicious popcorn?" The striped bags were lank with heat; the popcorn looked dry and Technicolored.

I laughed. "How could I resist?"

It's awkward sharing a bag of popcorn with your Geology professor, knuckles bumping like tectonic plates when you reach in at the same time. We walked a few blocks aimlessly.

"So what's next, Allison?"

Was this my chance to confess? Was he asking me out for a second date? Was this even a first date?

"Are you headed uptown or down?" he asked. We were approaching the B/C station.

"Down," I said. "You?"

"Up. I've got papers to grade," Greg answered. "Look. I had a good-"

Samson walked by, and all New York City turned its head. He was alone for once, and bounded down the station steps without noticing me.

"That kid's in one of my classes," Greg said. "Small world."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'd like to see you again sometime," he smiled. "I have your email, so..."

A train screeched into the station.

"Well, let me know," I smiled back. "That might be my train."

"Of course. We'll talk soon!"

I took the steps down two at a time. It could have been Greg's train, but he waited. I could see some of myself in him.

It was the downtown C. I got on, couldn't remember where to transfer, and ended up walking a mile back to the dorm.

I got to my room, where Samson and my roommate lay under the covers. They're only about four feet from the glow of my computer, on which I've decided to drop Geology.

The same thing occurs to me

I remember being 12 and wishing some boy would like me and not be embarrassed to say he liked me. Having a boyfriend would somehow transform me in the eyes of others. I'd be accepted finally, but most of all, I wouldn't even care about being accepted. Because I'd have a boyfriend.

Back then, it seemed miraculous that people ever get together. It was such a jerky dance. I had little rhythm.

Now I'm 26. I've had a lot of boyfriends and know they are not some affirmation, antidote, or even good dance partners. It's not that simple.

And it still seems miraculous that people ever get together. Even more, that they stay together.

Summer rain

It slickens the streets and gives us something to talk about. Strangers meet each other's eyes on the street and there's this shared resignation. It's a great equalizer in a stratified city that tends to run cold even when it's hot.

I'll never mind summer rain.

The newcomers

As I prepared to leave for work this morning, I heard something I rarely hear so early in the morning -- enthusiasm.

A woman's voice kept saying "awesome," and I knew exactly what was happening.

"She's moving in," I thought. "She probably just moved to the city."

After I was dressed, I locked my apartment and headed downstairs. When I walked out the front door, I saw a young couple unpacking a minivan. They looked friendly and shiny and clean. They're probably older than me and married, but newcomers are newcomers.

After living in NYC for almost four years, my personality has wizened, but I have to smile at my new neighbors, so personable in a tough neighborhood in a big, anonymous city. Who knows? Maybe we'll even talk someday.

May as well enjoy the view

I work in NYC's Financial District. A few weeks ago, I moved into my very own office for the first time.

Instead of important or comfortable, I feel lonely.

From my window, I see hundreds of other office windows where other workers look out from cubicles, cramped shared quarters, or maybe their own private spaces.

One of these days, I'm bringing binoculars.

Pre-boyfriend

He was a better friend.

Me, I think I'm about the same.

The new girl

To my dismay, I sometimes feel like the new girl.

Even when I'm not.