In many ways the affection that I received from the kids I worked with was operating like a methadone drip; a low level of love enough to take the edge off, but not the full deal. Without it I was left with this weird sensation that I eventually labelled lonely. And having thus identified my loneliness, I see loneliness everywhere, which is sad in its prevalence and yet comforting in its universality.

This is a quote from Kurt Vonnegut, about an idea that I love, even though it is flawed: "What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured."

I went to a reading series thing and the Virginia Tech shootings and the general feeling of badness was discussed. Any sort of "these terrible times we live in, this empty culture" discussion veers too closely to end-time talk, is what I don't like. It begins to sound like exceptionalism, that this time, in history, is momentously cruel and wrong and shallow. It sets up the idea that we can avoid a fall, as though rising and falling and evil and cruelty are not as mundane as breathing and pooping. Anyway, as a tonic, sort of a corrective to random acts of violence and cruelty, one author had us identify someone in the room we knew and write on a piece of paper what about that person we find precious and unique. And then she read them out loud, and it really was moving and fantastic. I had some amazing things written about me, and did feel loved and precious. I, in turn, wrote something guarded and cheeky. Earlier in the day a friend, whom I love and spend a great deal of time with, said "I miss you" and my heart seized up because I felt panicked and trapped. See? I'm still guarded and wary, and I get mad affection. Imagine. Imagine how much worse it could be, or how much better.

And this is the thing about the lonely: they are a better concept than a reality. Who wouldn't befriend Eleanor Rigby, what with that song about her and all? Except she is probably guarded and wary, and her persistent sense that she has been victimized and isolated results in a certain cruelty that makes spending time with Ms. Rigby really awkward. I myself, at my most desperately needy and alone, was nearly impossible to be around, what with the need and rage and self-loathing. The children I have worked with, damaged and unloved and hurt, the most needy and fucked up of the homeless, they are often the most vicious because they are guarding what has been depleted. It would be saintly to love them but it is also very difficult and stupid, because if you can't get that love back then you have exempted yourself from that basic need you are trying to address: that humans, to some degree, are born to love and be loved.

What I am saying is this: loving community is a good idea, maybe the best ever. I feel like it took me forever to even imagine such a thing, much less put myself in it, and I still don't feel like I'm doing it right. And that's just me! I would also caution against a strict idea of what loving community should look like, because it might not look like love at all, to you. Here I am thinking about children who age out of foster care and return to the homes they were removed from. There have been no studies but my own experience has the minimum rate of this at 80%. These families look like nightmares to me. These families are love to their children. Or, if not love, they are a measure of unloneliness.

Loneliness, like poverty (I just read "Poor People" by William Vollman, good book, lots of thoughts) seems as though it could be quantifiable but is not, really. For instance, Eleanor Rigby, or Cho Seung-Hui, living alone and friendless: clearly, they are lonely. And what if they said they were not lonely? And what about all of us? My cat is affection-starved because I am often socializing with my fantastic friends, and yet I feel lonely. Married people feel lonely. Remember when My Girl said that she could be in a crowd of people who all say they love her and she would feel all alone? We cannot cure feelings, they are not diseases. I was not loved very much as a child, and it stays with me, and the loneliness I feel now is a shadow of how I felt as a child, and it persists.

I'm thinking 'loneliness' but I'm feeling 'unloved.' How much do loneliness and unlovedness overlap? Are they the same thing? I think they might be the same thing. I think the inherent paradoxes of this thing are so amazing: the lonely are often so difficult to love, and so resistant to what they need; that the sense of being alone and uncared-for is universal but completely the opposite of communal. I would like to ask my Armenian family if they feel lonely, ever, because they are never alone. Kurt Vonnegut, I would like to cure the terrible disease of loneliness, except I don't think it's a disease, plus I have it.

Next up: loneliness as social control!