Social Hangover

Oh boy. I’m feeling serious when writing this. That can’t be good. Try to bear with me, seems like I’m in a thoughtful writing mood instead of riding high on the funny today. But then again, I don’t think this was meant to be a humor blog. Sometimes life is a bit more gray and dull. Like now.

Saturday afternoon. The digital display of the clock in the kitchen tells me I’m eating my breakfast when it would be a bit late for lunch.

One of the downsides of living on the literal edge of Helsinki (like there was some upside to it) is that if you use the public transportation system to get somewhere, you’ll need at least 40 minutes. If you have a car, it’s half that, even less.

Friday night becomes a problem with this setup – it takes forever to get to the city and even longer to get back (as the rate of buses decreases over time). Or you take the car, get in and out fast, but do not take a single drop of alcohol. Not really a problem. Fun if you’re in good company. I did that yesterday. A sober Friday night.

Besides the “I can get home whenever I want in 20 minutes”, not drinking on a Friday night has plenty of other advantages. The mood on the following Saturday afternoon really should be one of them.

But here I am, looking out the window, knowing that it’s just cold and windy and snowy out there. And I don’t feel so good. Somewhere on the background, CMX is playing Vanha Talvitie.

I’m feeling a strange connection to that Finnish farmer all those decades ago. Alone in his cabin. Living off his land. Land that was swamp and rocks and snakes just a few years earlier. Dealing with the darkness every single day and night of the long winter months. Taking the horse and going to the town once a week to buy supplies. Otherwise surviving with minimal human contact.

When he gets to the town, he needs to live. Live for the whole week’s worth. He drinks, he dances, he sings, he gets into trouble, he fights, he tells tales, he hears stories, he barters, he trades, and he shows his crafts. He over-indulges in everything social he can think of. And then he returns home.

If he’s been smart, he gets home safely with his horse and the purchases from the town. And the next morning he’s looking out the window and there is only the snow and the wind and the cold out there. The unbearable desire to go back to the previous night is screaming somewhere in the back of his mind. The memories are warm, but they’re only that. Memories. He knows it’s impossible to go back. Even if he went back to the town, everyone else is stuck in their own world of cold and wind and snow for another week and it wouldn’t be the same.

And here I am, looking out the window. Surrounded by the wind and the cold and the snow. Like him, I’m knowing that even if I went out there tonight, it wouldn’t be the same.

Social hangover.

It’s a bitch.

Friday was awesome. I met half a dozen new people, some of them friends of friends, some total strangers. If asked now, I might know the name of maybe one of them. But even without that formal connection, I remember having that awesome feeling of being in sync with them and feeling as a part of the group.

Smiling when I recognize which song starts playing, and getting a smile in return. Laughing to a good vibe, getting that knowing grin back. Screaming out my lungs and seeing someone else do the same.

And now I’m here with a dislodged soul.

Suffering from an unidentified party injury that has left my spiritual essence a couple of centimeters away from that comfortable position it has to be at if I want to feel as if I’m a part of the productive society. Still stuck in the fun.

As the thoughts of impending work reel my spirit back into its proper place, I can’t feel anything but the need to go back to yesterday. I want to drag myself to the dance floor. I want to sing “What is love, baby don’t hurt me!” in the karaoke game. I want to walk on that the street where I mistake an old classmate for Ni and spend minutes talking with her about things she has no clue about.

At this minute I am understanding why so many Finns turn into alcohol. It would be easy to numb these feelings and get on with your isolated life. These are positive, nostalgic emotions, but because you know you won’t have a chance to experience again soon, they can become a bit overbearing. Especially if you don’t have anyone to share them with.

The snow and the cold and the wind take their price.

I consider calling someone and just heading out, leaving the work as it is. Who cares? A lone person walks her dog on the street in front of me, looking like she hates the chore. I know. I know. I should get some work done. Time to drag the soul back in and be a busy little worker bee.

Walking back to my computer, I take a look at what I’ve decided to have as my current playlist. And then roll my eyes. Yeah. Dark and gloomy Finnish music. I make an effort and toss on something else, something from last night. To soothe that dislodged soul.

The pop song starts to play. I smile as the beats start rolling along my spine. My back straightens, I sway for a moment. Grab and roll up the tie that is laid on the table. Put it in store next to the others. There will be new nights, just need to do a couple of days of work before I get there.

The phone rings. My sister, calling to want to know who the redhead was I spent the night singing karaoke with, and if there was something going on that she should be aware of. I honestly can’t remember the girl’s name, not even sure it ever came up. Sis tells me her stories of last night, I tell her mine. We chat for a moment. The need to be social eases. The hangover passes. My soul settles.

We don’t have to wait for a week anymore. Technology has done wonders to us.

Time to go to work.