When I try to figure out why I dream of all my friends gathering in one room, the only thing I can come up with is the group text that was buzzing next to my head before I flipped on Do Not Disturb.

When I try to figure out why I dreamed of dating Jessie last night, the only thing I can come up with is that, even though I'd forgotten until she walked in the door, my subconscious still knew she was spending the night. She's asleep on the couch now, crashing before she leaves early tomorrow morning to drive a truck from New York to Denver. She just got back from a month of traveling in Europe. And after all this is done she'll go back to LA to live in a shared one-bedroom apartment with a 56-year-old man.

She's such a remarkable person. I admire her ability and determination to follow through on whatever idea pops into her head.

Sometimes I see these people interact with each other and I don't think I really fit into any of it. I don't talk like them, I'm not quick like them. I don't come up with the jokes. I haven't had to make friends in years. I mean friends, not just someone you say hi to. Confidants and people that you want to call or visit when you have a free moment. Whenever I think of someone that I know here in the city now, I can think of ten reasons why I don't want to spend time with them, which opposes the singular desire for company.

I could disappear. It would probably be fine, I don't think anyone needs me for anything. I'm not really sure where I'd go or what I'd do. Live alone, maybe. Take my Aunt up on that one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Brooklyn.