On Solitude

On Solitude

Figure 1:  Pablo The Fearful.   “My ideas, they are limited.”

 

So Adrian went to Singapore.  And then Matilda went up north fishing.  So it was just me and Pablo the Fearful Dog for a week.

For a while, I really liked the freedom.  I got that feeling like when your parents left the house and you could turn up the stereo and eat all the frozen pizza rolls or whatever.  I met friends for dinner and drinks.  I jumped in the car and did things when I felt like it.  I ate meals standing up in the kitchen.  I stayed up super late reading.  I didn’t clean anything up that I didn’t feel like cleaning up.  I didn’t care about what time it was.  I wrote a lot.  I read a lot.  I thought all my thinky thoughts a lot.

But yesterday morning, I was just done being alone.  I mean, I don’t want to be hassled.  I don’t seek noise or action.  I don’t want to suddenly have to run around doing a million things I don’t like.  I don’t want to deal with things spilling on the sofa or dogs getting loose or making meals for hungry children or telling people to clean up their toys and whatever.

I just want someone around to chat with, you know?  And not on the phone.  I hate the phone.  And Skype, too.

I just want to have someone come up with an idea and then go follow that around with them.  Pablo has no ideas beyond Let’s Lay Here On The Sofa and Give Me A Dog Treat and We Should Have A Walk.

I guess there is a bottom for an introvert like me.  A cap on how much solitude I can stand.  And it’s just about one week.

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