Practicing for Lonesome

In two weeks - mas o menos - most of the snowbirds will have migrated north. What will remain are the people who live here full-time or those who try to stick it out as long as they can before heat, humidity, and power outages send them fleeing to dry-heat Arizona.

With every rig that pulls out, I breathe easier. I especially look forward to the day my neighbors leave. I couldn't have nicer or more considerate neighbors but you know you're too close when your neighbor is in her rig, she sneezes, you're outside and say "bless you" and she responds "thank you," all at normal volume. But the main reason I look forward to their departure is that I will have an ocean view. Space. I crave space.

And solitude.

And therein lies my ongoing dilemma. I am a solo being, awkward in social situations, but I miss certain people interactions. Frankly, I miss the barfly life, the one place I can choose when and where I socialize. Here, in a small trailer park in Mexico, I don't have that luxury. Snowbirds, vendors...when the trailer door is open, that's a sign you're available for company. So not true. When my trailer door's open it means my trailer door's open. Nothing more. I wake early. I work or write with the trailer door closed. I need that time alone. People think I'm in bed till 9 or 10. They can't seem to grasp the concept of aloneness.

Of course this was also true in the trailer park I lived at in southern Arizona. Snowbirds especially are great socializers. They like their happy hours, potlucks. They like visiting. I'd be outside reading or beading and, just like here, it meant Chez Airstream was open for business.

So I've been gearing up for lonesome.

I stopped going to happy hour a couple months ago and I'm much happier. I don't have to feign interest in stories I've heard over and over again. I don't have to tolerate digs at bleeding heart liberals. I don't have to hear Obama called the "n" word. I stopped going to potlucks, meals of perfectly edible dishes like grandma used to make.

All that being said, I will be sorry to see some people go. I'll miss the "frenchies." How great it's been to have their joie de vivre wafting through the park like an elixir (along with the aroma of bread baking in their outdoor oven). But they'll be back in the fall with the intention of being here full time, if they can withstand the summer. Of course, I'm not sure I'll be here but if I am, I'll be looking forward to their return.

It's obvious that living in such close proximity to people has made me less tolerant of people. Familiarity breeds contempt is certainly an idiom that holds true for me.

Lordy, I've created an anti-RVing blog. Well, shit, the blogosphere needs an antidote to all those happy RVing blogs. It's my pleasure to oblige.