I hate being sick.

I’ve now discovered the (hopefully) worst thing about living alone: getting sick.

I have the flu (likely H1N1 variety) and have spent the last 36 hours in my home “self isolating” for the good of humanity.  I was supposed to go home and see my family this weekend, celebrate my sister’s 10th birthday, but I figured getting on a plane was not what the CDC had in mind when they issued their recommendations.  Plus, it’s been kind of a struggle to make it out of bed.

So here’s me, not at home with my loving family.  Here’s me, alone in my one-bedroom apartment with an enormous pile of dirty dishes, a raging headache, a see-sawing temperature, and no one to pop their head in and say, “How you feeling?”

In short, it sucks.

I’ve never really understood the “fear of dying alone and being discovered six months later” trope that seems to drive most romantic comedies these days, but I think I’m starting to get it.  I know this is the flu talking, but after a certain amount of time without seeing another human being, I feel like I could die and it would take a while for anyone to notice.  (No, I am not that sick, just mopey.)  Being sick, at the best of times, is never as fun as it should be (lying in bed all day watching TV sounds great when you are not actually doing it).  But it’s a whole lot less fun when no one brings you soup or watches any of the TV with you.

the difficult part

I went to see a psychic today. She told me that I had three past lives, and in each life I was ripped away from my home (kidnapped or something similar) and in each case, I was never able to return. That is why, now, I am feeling so much grief and sadness even though my life is good. I have left home, and I don’t know if I’ll go back.

But: I left of my own free will, and I am going to do something exciting and worth doing. I am going to try, in whatever way I can, to help elect Barack Obama. And after that happens, then I can choose to go home (in the process healing my karmic debt!).

I’m not sure I believe the past lives part, but the process of leaving San Francisco has been harder than it should have been. There are many (more mundane) reasons: I fell and sprained my ankle moving out, I am confused and sad about a relationship I left behind, my car was stolen from the street where I was supposed to leave it safely parked for three months, etc. But these are all circumstantial, and I can deal with them.

The difficult part is the difficult part for all twenty-three year olds (at least in our culture of overabundant choices): I am in the process of figuring out what I want and what I need, and what the difference is between those two things. I want to be in San Francisco, in my old apartment, in my own comfy bed (ideally with my ex feeding me chocolates) but I don’t need that. I need to be proud of my president (or I need to find a new country of residence). I want to change, I want to stay the same. I need to let go, I need to hold on. I need to feel at home. I want to make home wherever I go. In short: I am confused and in my confusion I make decisions and sometimes I regret them more than I think I will.

Or maybe it really is about my past lives. Who knows?

This post this is just to say: I am here. I am going to New Jersey in a day and a half to see what I can do for the campaign there, or anywhere else anyone wants me. (If you are hiring for positions on the campaign: I am unemployed, and hardworking, and hopeful. Also, I do not go to see psychics on a regular basis.)

This blog may not be updated frequently. Depending on what I end up doing for the next few months, it will contain writing about some combination of: grassroots campaign work, current (political) events, writing, and my personal life and feelings. I will try to label appropriately.