Alienation In The O.C.

The sun never stopped, the beach was a block away and the boardwalk was teeming with tanned bodies that looked like they were on their way to or from the gym. I had the sinking feeling I was supposed to feel grateful for spending the winter in this sunlit paradise and not in my home of Seattle where the skies were grim and the suicide rate was always climbing. Well, I wasn't.

So I spent my time in my room, reading. I gorged myself Augusten Burroughs, David Sedaris, and, in case something might rub off, Buddhism material. The Big Book of AA was far too dry for my liking. Sure it was recommended, but I couldn't get past the drivel it proffered. One afternoon when I was reading Running With Scissors for the second time, my roommate Matt popped in.

"You're still reading?" he asked.

"It would appear that way," I replied.

"It's f*cking great outside; why do you just lay here all day and read?"

"I'm expanding my mind and broadening my horizons. If I wanted devolve and skateboard around like a kid, looking for women on the beach, you're already doing that and you know how I hate to be a follower."

"F*ck you," he said with a smirk.

"Damn straight."

He changed his shirt or something and slammed back out of the room. I heard laughter from some fellow patients (I will not call them clients) in the living room and it made me cringe. I'm not sure if I was bitter because they were the type of people I despised or if I wanted to be accepted by them so I could do all the rejecting. Bukowski once said, "Show me someone who likes people and I'll show you why I don't." That brought me momentary comfort.