Bring Back the Fuzzy!!

The night seemingly ended with a bang! It was a well-executed dinner party, complete with savory food, interesting conversation and enough funny quips to know the guests were entertained. As my tiny apartment emptied, the petite bellies of the invitees bulging with satisfaction, I took one hearty breath and began patting myself on the back on a job well done. But as I looked about the solitary room, which once brimmed with laughter and glee, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. The melancholy wasn’t caused by the heap of dishes that poured out of the sink; nor was it due to my alarmingly aching bones that screamed from exhaustion. It was a sense of desolation that was brought on by an overpowering, overbearing sense of desertion. That sense of loss that was suppressed by the vibrant chatter of a crowded room quickly found its way back into the isolated domain, announcing its presence with a resounding thud. To put it plainly, the “fuzzy” was gone, replaced by the all-too-familiar sense of loneliness.

My friend and I laughingly coined the term “fuzzy” to describe a feeling that at times cannot be explained. It’s the knotting feeling one gets in her stomach, one that’s wrought with anxiety but riddled with excitement, when she is lost in the throws of love. Or lust. Or contentment. It’s a combination of pain and pleasure; angst and anticipation; stress and stimulation. It’s a feeling that elicits nervousness, but is blindly sought out by every able-bodied person. To try to explain it would be an injustice and to never feel it would be a tragedy.

But the fuzzy is fleeting. It comes into your life unexpectedly at times, sneaking in when least anticipated, but leaves abruptly, without warning. And invariably, the minute one begins to feel isolated or lonely or deserted, the one feeling that she invariably remembers is the fuzzy, longing for the days in which she’ll feel it once again. The fuzzy shouldn’t be confused with physical ecstasy in any way. Let’s face it – that can be cured easily with a pair of recharged double C batteries and ten minutes of solitude. No – the fuzzy is much more meaningful, packed with profound depth and vigor.

I remember when I last felt the fuzzy. Although it wasn’t too long ago, it feels as if a lifetime has passed since the fuzzy was a part of my being. Sadly, it wasn’t instigated by the most remarkable or memorable individual either. Rather, it was the glee of the fuzzy that made him outstanding. He left an indelible impression and created the fuzzy, and like the lame duck that he is, took it away from me as he disappeared from my life.

So as I look about my empty apartment, remembering the days in which my life seemed complete with the fuzzy, I long for those days to return. The air seemed fresher; the sky bluer; the world a happier place. I sleep alone, saddened by the loss and thoroughly disheartened. I go to bed despondently and broken. And I ask – when will the fuzzy come back??