So I was back to square one, which was Alone in a New Place, and for no good reason other than I apparently wanted a change of scenery. As I finished off my pizza I tried to reassure myself with the fact that, so far, things had gone great. I had a home, I had a job; what else did I really need? I’d make friends eventually … somewhere. Not that I knew where I’d find them. The office staff at the firm had all looked much older than I. Maybe I could take a class at the community college or join … something. What did people join these days? Book clubs? Political campaigns?

I practically felt my brain short-circuit and realized I needed sleep. I mentally berated myself for not having set up my bed—one of the shortcomings of the whatever-is-closest unpacking method—and halfheartedly packed up the rest of the pizza before shuffling through boxes to find the bed linens. After throwing the bed together I threw myself atop the sheets without changing clothes, yanked the comforter over my head, and was asleep before I could even consider setting an alarm.

I slept like the dead, but when I awoke nearly twelve hours later, I found I had no energy to face the day. At first I wasn’t sure why—was it all the unpacking still to be done? The mental exhaustion from the last few weeks? It was unclear until I found myself jumping at the slightest noises and fearing the unfamiliar surroundings, and then I knew what my problem was.

I didn’t want to be alone.

In all my daydreams of California, I’d pictured myself with people: living with a roommate, working in an office full of other young people, hanging out in the evening with some friends at a nearby restaurant and, most important, meeting a blond, tanned surfer boy and starting another relationship. Instead, I’d moved into a one-bedroom apartment by myself and taken a job in an office where I was at least fifteen years everyone’s junior, and I had no idea how to meet new people. I was terrified that, six months into this ill-planned venture, I’d still be alone.

I let myself cry, knowing it would happen eventually anyway, then forced myself to get up and shower. I had no food in the house other than my leftover pizza, and since that never appealed to me for breakfast, I decided to walk to the shopping center at the bottom of the hill and get some groceries. The walk would allow me some time to think about what I was going to do to find some friends, and it would give me the chance to really examine my neighborhood for signs of other twenty-somethings.