The thing that I value above all else — including, but not limited to, wine, chocolate, my dog, and Friday Night Lights — is alone time.
As in, time spent with only the whirling and weird thoughts skirting around my nog.
Sup, ME time? Lookin’ good.
I’ve previously lamented over people who can’t be alone. It’s absolutely incomprehensible to me how a person comes to feel this way.
The only state of bliss I’ve ever known happens when I’m alone.
The list of pros is endless.
There is no such thing as shame eating when no one is there to watch you shovel an entire package of hot-as-hell pizza rolls into your mouth. Shame? What shame? Pizza Rolls? Haven’t eaten those since I stopped babysitting those Manning kids.
See! You would have had to share those pizza rolls if you weren’t alone. And that’s fucking awful to even think about.
I hate you and I hate pants.
Sometimes (every single day of my life), I just want to hang out in my home without pants. I don’t want to listen to my friends whining about some vague first-world slight they experienced via their bitch mobile co-worker that day. To continue functioning in a society where it’s inappropriate to tell my honest-to-goodness BFFs to STFU(!), I just need a day where I can pull an XXL t-shirt over my head and fall into my personal brand of daydreams.
Forget your negative groupthink, I’m better on my own.
My social media feeds are an incessant barrage of the most negative freaking whiners.
“Like, I can’t even deal with the fact I missed the Zara sale.”
“I’m dead inside.”
“I literally hate everyone right now.”
Listen, you self-indulgent lunatics, it’s time to chill out. Life is literally beautiful. I’m reminded of this every time I take a walk through the park, read one of my favorite novels or sit on a bench and people watch. It’s my way of getting back to zero and putting things in a true light. Discontent kills, my whiney little friends.
Sometimes, people just make you feel shitty.
I think one of the biggest gifts in life is finding people you can be 95 percent with. Because if we’re actually being 100 percent, there isn’t a person on this earth you’re really one hunnit with. And that’s just for self-preservation purposes, so says Darwin.
So that 95 percent really means something!
If you’re one of those people, you will be apprised of any poop or menstruation issues I may be experiencing at the time because that’s me. I (over)share everything.
But those 95 percenters are few and far between, and sometimes everyone else just makes you feel less-than.
I hate forcing my mouth into a grim little line because I’m holding back words I know I shouldn’t say.
I hate hanging my head.
I HATE stifling my laugh.
And I hate people that make me feel like I have to. Thus, being alone can be a state of bliss.
So cheers to you, girl! And by you I mean ME.