The Days That Are No More (repost with edit)

 I had initially deleted this post, because I wasn't thrilled with the quality of the writing and found the subject matter totally pathetic. I didn't think anyone would notice, but good old David, my only fan, did. In the absence of something else to say, and with the intention of keeping up with this practice, I resubmit it. Besides, who really gives a shit if the writing sucks? This whole thing is supposed to be for me, anyway.

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' Dear as remember'd kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more!'

                                        - Tennyson, from "Tears, Idle Tears" (excerpt from "The Princess")

 The above quote is from my favourite Tennyson poem. I think about this excerpt a lot and it often rattles around in my mind. I seem to be perpetually-haunted by "the good old days". 

I don't really understand half of what is going on with me these days, but I can say for certain that most of it is not good. As my readership ((all two of you)) are well aware, unfounded and inexplicable gloominess is nothing new for me. Most of the time, I can wear it with pride, like a tattered yet noble old coat, covered in faded patches that once were bright. It is only rarely that I actually become frightened by my emotions. In the past two weeks or so, this seems to be the case. More and more, I've been feeling that there is little in the way of relief from the sadness I feel, aside from the blessed escape that is sleep and my vivid dreams. Not only that, I feel so terribly lonely, so isolated, that I don't even know who I am anymore.

Let it not be assumed that I do not have friends and family around me. My isolation is of my own volition. People still invite me to do things, from time to time, but I rarely follow up. Sometimes, I will make plans and just not show up at all. By doing this, and by making little effort to arrange any activities, my isolation only feeds into itself, a snake biting its own tail.  I know that I need to get out of the house in order to break the cycle, and I attempt to make plans and set small goals with the intention of finding some sense of purpose.. but I always feel so exhausted by the end of the day, from having to "put on the hat and do the dance", as my friend Kevin likes to call it. My occupation is inherently-social in nature. I answer phone calls all day in a chipper-yet-calming voice, I take messages with the gentle acquiescence of a secretarial robot, I type obituary notices and print death certificates like one possessed. Then I go home and just collapse.

A long time ago, I had a fantastic social life. In the halcyon years of 2006-08, I was seemingly never without something to do. I think back on those years now as an endless ticker tape parade of theme parties, BBQ's, camping trips, beach days. Think of it: Me. At the beach. IN A SWIM SUIT. I went to the gym all the time, in those days. I used to joke that I was "in training to party", to look fantastic at every event.  I even sheepishly admit that, in order to look my best in the sun in the summer of 2007, I tanned in a tanning bed to achieve a golden glow. 

My social circle in those years was broad and consisted of a collection of about five different couples. We were all young, beautiful, fearless. We arrived at parties and bars, fashionably late, in ironic, aggressive fashion that we pieced together from our Saturday afternoon trips to thrift stores. I myself was the unofficial party photographer of the group. Inspired by the decadent, hipster fashion exposes of The Cobrasnake, I would roll up to parties in my neon Nike Dunks, capturing with perfect poignancy the many moments of hilarity, of glittering indulgence, of youth.

 My boyfriend at the time, Morgan, a gangly, bespectacled lad with a wry sense of humor and a penchant for parties, would take over the stereo, and everyone would dance far into the night. We were the couple everyone wanted at their parties, the couple whose house everyone always wanted to visit. We were fun. We were hilarious. We were young and perfect. Nothing was ever wrong, in those days. We simply didn't believe in sadness.

When I think back to those days, to the Stef I was, I don't recognize myself anymore.