In the sad, sorry state that I am currently in, I can’t help but wonder if loneliness is in fact a cumulative thing.

For all intents and purposes, I’ve been (relatively) OK with my solitary state for at least the past (gasp) 7 years (and I’ve been solitary for far longer than that.) Sure, I have the occasional descent into abject depression but these are transient, and I can get up in the morning and go to work and be OK.

But these last few days have been really trying. The last time I think that I felt like this was post-breakup. I’m in this contrary state where I quail at the thought of hanging out with other people, particularly other, well-adjusted people who are in healthy relationships, and yet I can’t stand being by myself.

Whereas last year I went for a few days [1][2][3][4][5] without talking to anyone except to order food or pay at the register, I can hardly contemplate doing the same thing for the next 36 hours or so, to the point where I feel compelled to drive up to L.A. tonight and mope around at my parents’ house until Thursday, just so I can have some sort of company—even if my parents aren’t around, at least there’s the dog. (Man, having a dog would cure some of my insanity, I think, except for the fact that the dog would likely be dead from neglect in less than a week.)

Which leads me to ask the rhetorical question: does loneliness accumulate? Have I simply reached that tipping point where I’ve had too much and can’t bear any more? (Naturally, my thoughts wander to Popeye: That’s all I canst stands and I canst stands no more!) Honestly, I have no illusions about getting out of this state anytime soon, and in my saner moments, I really have no driving desire to do so, but it troubles me horribly that I have a hard time enduring hour upon hour of my soul longing for someone to talk to.

I suppose I have this blog, which is remarkably comforting despite being incredibly pathetic. What I really ought to do is hire a psychotherapist.