alone but not lonely
I go through periods in my life where I am ok, totally ok, strangely ok with being alone.
I'm in one of those now. And it will never not be a slightly disturbing experience. Because I think, 'oh wow, do you have any friends?' or 'whoops, haven't really spoken to my family at all today,' and then there is no reaction to that information. My brain is bringing it up because it is worth acknowledging, and yet I fully do not care.
I'm sure it's something to do with resetting my nervous system after periods of stress. I go through a lot of those. It also could be an illness thing. I was just sick with a cold and I hate people a whole lot more when I'm ill, tired, and in pain. I mean, who doesn't?
But it is odd to be in a state of mind where the desire to engage with another person beyond the vague pleasantries of everyday life is not present.
I'm not even being intentionally anti-social. I think I have been showing the most authentic version of myself at work this past month because of this sense of carelessness. I don't care, and thus I am more me.
This should be fine, and in truth, it is fine. I am mostly worrying about nothing. The reason, however, that I do have concerns is that I know this period won't last. I'm a weirdly cyclical little creature, and yes, I don't care now. But I will care again. I will be lonely again. And I worry that any neglect right now to my social capacity will just end up biting me in the butt in the future.
Will I do anything to fix this on my own? Probably not. I'm an introvert after all. But it's lurking in my brain space.
Because yes, people tend to annoy the hell out of me, but I also can't help being fond of all the little characters I come across on a daily basis. And there will come a point where I tire of simply observing it all.
~nan
I am, in theory, reading two books right now. But in all honesty, working and reading for fun are two things that hardly ever coexist for me. I would read if I had the brain space. But I usually don't. But whatever. The two books are James Joyce's Dubliners and Georgette Heyer's The Foundling. They're both great. Dubliners is a childhood favorite of mine and I have never read The Foundling before. Someone just got kidnapped. Exciting stuff.