Oh. I am alone.
I’m meant to be surrounded by people who love me, aren’t I? I’m meant to have someone waiting for or on me, I am meant to be somewhere doing something with someone, with a group of someones. Aren’t I?
What is wrong with me? Why aren’t I?
Noone to call. Nothing urgent to talk about or do.
All that’s left is to eat my leftover pancakes and wash my clothes. Tidy my room, reflect on the world, and write a blog about it. Read about health, cooking and religion. Play guitar. Househunt, make a business application. Shower, stretch, sleep peacefully… alone.
Turns out my favourite things are solitary activities. People have asked me, are you a loner? And I wasn’t sure what that meant, as if it is some kind of genetic disorder. Maybe I am; on reflection I’m concerned I’m not gonna have enough time alone to do the things I wanna do. Apparently this confusing disconnection is exactly the freedom I wish for.