New Year's Eve, 2005

I’m sad.

If I were less wordy, I might just leave it at that. In fact, a lot of what I’m feeling has already been expressed. I love – absolutely adore/can’t get enough of – people with blogs. Those people who are honest and gutsy enough to put something real out here help me sometimes. To know that grad school, jobs, dating, friendships -- life is hard for someone other then me is comforting. And every once in awhile, I pull that knowledge around me like a blanket and snuggle in, content in knowing I’m alone physically but not in how I feel.

I have an actual blanket – one Grandma made for me before I was born. So my blanket and I turn 27 in January. I don’t sleep with it every night, though it’s usually around. I took it with me on an interview – the one where I had endless social events to attend for a job I wasn’t sure I wanted. I felt unsure and uncomfortable, and tucked my blanket into my suitcase before heading off to catch my flight.

It was a bad trip. I got a manuscript rejection right before my flight left, and there was nobody to meet me at the airport when I arrived. Then started days of interviews, tours, meetings with executives as well as senior scientists, increasing certainty that I didn’t want this job, tours around town to find housing, and social events. I would return to the hotel, exhausted, and tuck my blanket under my chin – smell the laundry detergent I liked, and feel the worn cotton knit against my face – and sleep, comforted.

I got through the interview, and sitting on an uncomfortable chair at the Delta terminal in Atlanta on a layover, I realized that I couldn’t remember putting my blanket in my suitcase before I left that morning.

Don’t panic. I told myself. You couldn’t have forgotten it. It’s there. But when I got home, unzipping my suitcase as soon as I wheeled it to the car, it wasn’t there.

I can’t even explain the sick feeling of dread that overwhelmed me when I realized I didn’t have it. I called the hotel, finding only front desk staff at midnight, not at all concerned that I looked like a fool for freaking out about my blanket.

“It has a white back and yellow trim,” I began, already starting to cry as I pictured it. “And there are dolls on the front. With big bonnets. In primary colors. It’s ratty and old – I’ve had it since I was a baby. I know it’s silly, but I need it. I have to have it back.” After carefully giving my address and gaining a kind girl’s promise to have housekeeping look for it early the next day, I hung up and returned to the living room, barely clinging to my control.

I sat in a blue rocking chair in front of the window. “They’ll send it tomorrow.” I told my mom solemnly.

“No, they don’t know if it’s there, but I’m sure someone found it. They’ll figure out where it is tomorrow, then put it in the mail.” I answered when she asked if they already had it.

Mom sighed my name, and shook her head. “I think you need to be prepared for losing it. I probably got tangled up with the sheets and sent away for laundry. Then whoever finds it will just think you didn’t want it, and throw it away.”

Now, I consider Mom to be my very best friend – I’ve relied on her love, support, and pragmatic views more often than I can recount. But this little gem pushed me over the edge. All the stress of having my defense pushed back indefinitely, feeling like a failure, not finding a job I wanted despite exhaustive interviewing, and yes, losing my beloved blanket, coalesced and I couldn’t breathe through the pain of it. I started to sob – uncontrollably and with great passion.

I cried for almost an hour – mourning the future I thought I’d find after grad school and hadn’t, and desperately needing the comfort that my blanket always gave me. Mom, bless her heart, tried to backtrack.

“They’ll find it.” She assured me. “And you don’t need it anymore anyway!”

“Do you see what’s happening to me?! Do I look like someone who doesn’t need her security blanket, Mom?!” Barely able to wail out my questions through wracking sobs, blowing my nose to try to gain the ability to breathe, headache brewing and nausea threatening.

I did laugh when she considered me, sitting at my side on the couch, stroking my hair. “I can make you a new one.” She finally offered.

We went to the store the next day, found new material, and she taught me how Grandma put a dinner plate in the center of the 2 pieces of material, tracing around it to form a large circle. Then she sewed from the circle to the edges of the material. Mom started, and I finished it. Then I had a flower blanket to cuddle – one with pastel daisies and a green flannel back. This one, like my first, had yellow trim. It comforted me until my blanket arrived in the mail, sent by the kind woman at the front desk and courtesy of a housekeeper who recognized it as being something vital and important that its owner would desperately want back.

That story is to explain how important comfort is to me – to find something that makes me feel loved and important on days when I feel lonely and insignificant. So when I hear that other people are dateless on New Year's – people who I think are amazing and lovely – it makes me dread my evening less. When I realize that not everyone does something special to mark the coming of 2006, I decide to think of myself within the company of other home-dwellers rather than feeling completely isolated in a world of people who party.

I think the reason I decided to put these thoughts in public vs. keeping a private journal was that I hope it helps someone – makes her feel in good company (or at least not alone – not sure how good my company is right now), or makes him realize that getting your PhD doesn’t mean you necessarily have anything figured out. That the woman who fell apart over losing her blanket has given seminars and talks, successfully performed at prelims and defenses, passed classes, mentored new students, and served on various committees.

I present a confident, professional, smart version of myself to other people – putting significant time and effort into this person others might see. But here? I am who I am. I feel lonely today and dread people asking what I did for New Year's. I’m hurt that my site traffic has gone to hell in the past few days – did I write something offensive? Get boring suddenly? Somehow transmit the fact that my general malaise is affecting my productivity at home, at work and at blog? I wish I had a man who loved me, and failing that, friends who lived where I currently reside. I wish that I were stunningly beautiful and even more successful.

I’m not writing resolutions this year – I normally don’t. I will say that I’m glad I started writing recently. As many others have said recently in their own posts, it’s cathartic and makes me view my life much more clearly. If you’ve been reading or have commented, I’m all aflutter with pleasure. I know you have your own lives that demand attention, and that I might compel you to come and read is incredibly flattering. So you have my sincere thanks. Those thanks come with my wishes for a very happy 2006 – whether you’re partying with crowds or home alone for its actual beginning.

And if you happen to be sad, I'm here too. Do you want to be friends?