Being In My Head Is Weird

Ok. This post is probably going to emulate the stream of consciousness style that William Faulkner pioneered. Do not think that I am comparing myself to Faulkner; I am just saying that if this post is a little confusing it is because Faulkner taught me that convoluted, internal monologue sentences can be good. (Maybe. I don’t know. It’s been awhile since I read As I Lay Dying.) 

On my birthday I made a list of all the things I wanted to accomplish over the year. I knew publishing the list forced my hand in providing updates on how I am doing. I have kept up with several: blogging once a week, putting money in my savings account, watching a TED Talk once a week, and making all my friends’ birthday cards. 

Last week I had a weird hour and a half in between grading at Cocoa Cinnamon and attending the Riverside soccer game so I decided it was the perfect time to go to dinner by myself. Let the stream of consciousness begin.

I pull into the parking lot of Foster’s Market already feeling very awkward. I will not be meeting anyone here. I have no friends. Will people think I am a loser because I am alone? I mean, I don’t think people are strange when I see people eating at restaurants alone. But am I kinder than most people? I mean, I know I can be judgmental, but I think I’m a genuinely kind person. Am I? What if I think I am kind but I’m not actually that kind?

I open my car door. 

It’s a great thing that I always carry a book. Going to dinner by myself will allow me to establish some independence. I will not use my phone at all, but I will read. I will not listen to my music and disengage fully from this moment. I will be intentional. I will sit outside, listen to the birds and the traffic, and read my book. I have an hour to eat and read. This will be good. An hour of reading. 

I walk up to the counter. Do I order my usual? This is a cool, new adventure for me. Do I get the salad plate? No, I’m going to be adventurous! I’ll get the chicken caesar wrap and chips and a diet coke. Living on the edge feels so good. 

This guy looks new. He’s looking at me. He can tell I’m alone. There are only six people in here right now. He obviously knows I am not meeting anyone. Why does he care who I am here with? I am literally holding my book in my hand. Does he pity me? I mean, I surely cannot be the first person to come here alone. People do this all the time. I am not a pioneer. 

“Oh hi. Yes, I’ll take the chicken caesar wrap, these chips, and a drink,” I mutter.

“Cool. And you’re name?” He asked.

“Mira. M-I-R-A,” I spell.

“Great. Show this to her when you’re ready to leave. I’ve been meaning to read that book,” he said.

“Oh. This book? I kind of hate it. Don’t read it,” I say/laugh and walk off. I have a way with words.

I scan the restaurant. There are a few people in here but I kind of want some solitude. I’m being a little bold tonight, but I don’t want to be too bold. Let me go to dinner by myself, but where no one can actually see me. But this is for me, not other people. It’s so nice outside, so I’ll grab a seat out there. Lots of cool picnic tables and patio furniture. There is this great, giant wall of ivy on one part of the patio that separates the busy, car infested 15-501 and the restaurant, so I choose a table behind the wall. Ok. There is a table of two women. They’re talking about “the hospital”. Are they doctors? Nurses? They must belong to Duke in some way. They keep talking about showing the new people how to do their job. They have weird laughs. Whatever. I pull out my book and open it to page 232.

“Mira!” that same guy shouts and he sees me and delivers my wrap. 

Wait, how does one read and eat at the same time? My book pages keep flipping. This wind sucks. Oh, cell phone. I’ll put my cell phone on the page to hold it down. No. I can’t. If my cell phone is out I will be tempted to check Twitter and I don’t want to be tempted. Are cell phones truly evil or is our addictive nature to them (or anything really) inherently evil? I wonder if the guy or girl who invented cell phones knew exactly what he or she would be creating. Does he or she know? Is he or she alive? Who is it? I would google it but I am not unlocking my phone. I pull out my car keys instead. 

The sun has begun to set and orange and purple begin to blur the blue sky. This is so beautiful. I wish I had a porch. Oh yeah, read and eat. Reading is going well. These women keep talking. Can’t they see I’m trying to read? How often do I sit at a restaurant with friends, totally oblivious of someone, sitting by themselves, attempting to read? And I have such a loud laugh. I should really tone it down some. 

I finished my wrap and chips. Man, it must be time to go soon. I don’t want to be late to the soccer game.

Fifteen minutes have passed. 

What?! Why does it take my friends and I an hour and a half to eat a meal? I mean, I know we talk, but really. I ordered, got my food, and ate in 15 minutes. What the heck.

Ok, fine. I can read for the next 45 minutes. That’s a lot of time. This will be perfect.

Twenty minutes pass. OK, I hate this book. I really hate it. But I can’t stop reading it. What if something redeems this entire book within the last 10 pages? I would be missing out on a great piece of literary fiction. Maybe I could teach this book to my AP students. And then it could change their lives. Then later on while they’re sitting on their porches watching their grandchildren play in the yard, they’ll say that they had this teacher in high school that made them read this book and at first they hated it but then their lives were forever changed by this piece of fiction and every Christmas they sit in front of their respective fires and read this monumental novel. 

Wow. This book sucks.

Power through. Do I need more diet coke? I mean, I’m running low and I’ve got about 15 more minutes to kill before I need to leave. I could do that. But don’t diet drinks give you brain cancer? Maybe I shouldn’t. Oh wait, here comes someone else. She’s alone too. Should I give her the “hey, we’re by ourselves, being all independent, eating our dinners alone” nod? Does that exist? She’s on her phone. She must be nervous. Or what if she does this all the time and I’m the nervous one? Is there a nod?! Do I communicate? But if the whole point of this is eating dinner alone then I should be alone. I should reflect. I should not try to communicate with anyone. Maybe I should spend the next 10 minutes talking to God. He can hear all of this anyway, right? Is the act of thinking about talking to God actually me talking to God? Uhh, God, I’m eating alone. 

6:15. Time to go.

Being in my head is weird.