Yeah, right. I’m going to start off with how I dropped my phone down my pants.
Tomorrow is pickup day, and I was hauling the bins to the alley. I needed to carry my phone but had no pockets, so I stuck it in my waistband. MacGyver, right? I didn’t even make it the five or six feet to the bins before the phone worked its way out of my waistband and down my leg. It’s been raining, and the ground is soaked, so I ended up trying to hold my leg out horizontally so I could remove the phone without drowning it.
Later, after dark, my elusive new neighbor or neighbors came in, and I heard a bin thunk. The one I’ve met, whose name is Chase or Hunter or Chet or something, appears to have gotten separated from his fraternity herd, and I wasn’t counting on him to pick up a bin that he’d knocked over with his car. By this time, it was raining again, so I stood at my back door, in my pajamas, holding a keychain flashlight (shaped like a pig, and yes, it does oink while illuminating), trying to pinpoint the location of the trash.
What this has to do with solitude: it makes you act like you were raised by wolves. Or, more accurately, living alone causes you to lose your set of “is this normal?” checks and balances. I suspect that even those living the contemplative life sometimes wear beanies indoors– who’s going to know?
I ended up going outside about 11 PM, in pajamas and Doc Martens. It was a look, that’s for sure.
There’s no need for an essay discussing pros and cons of being alone, and I hate pro-con lists anyway: they tend to be paralyzing, unless you actually do know what you need to do but have to rationalize it.
I was considering cooking Minute Rice last night. I got entirely hung up on the directions: why does Minute Rice take five minutes to cook, five to solidify (or whatever)?
I had cheese and crackers. The Minute Rice question was too fraught.
That’s an example of when having someone with me to say “shut up and cook the damn rice” might have been helpful.
The point I’m getting around to:
- At what point do these quirks hit the irreversible Grey Gardens threshold?
Increasingly, I worry that I’m incapable of being around other humans for extended periods of time. Yes, I know my personality is a factor. Thanks for pointing that out.
But: are the other oddities becoming embedded? Am I becoming inflexible? Does isolation feed on itself?
When did I develop my mother’s habit of flinging myself into this-place-has-to-look-decent mode before someone comes over?
I’m not broken over here, but is my crack showing?