I’m isolating myself this weekend. Broomy (my brother/roomy that is, get it?) is having to stay at my dad’s and dog-sit so I’ve had the apartment to myself a lot in the past month. I did entertain, and by entertain I mean have premarital sex with, someone here Thursday but no sleepovers. I like being alone and I probably won’t forever ignore texts from friends who are showering and getting dressed and seeing the sun at some point during their weekends but…I’m good with it for today.

The holiday was great but I think this is me recharging after a week of houseguests that ran right into my work week. It’s introvert recovery hour.

This is the most alone I’ve ever actually felt in my life. It’s not that sad, longing, empty alone feeling that I used to have. I’m content. I love my people so much, but it’s nice to spend time with me.

And though I will almost certainly premarital sex my Thursday date again at the first opportunity, it seems like it won’t be leading anywhere else. I would like it to, but I very realistically think it won’t. So it’s a bummer but here I am, without a permanent cuddle buddy, and it’s good.

Except in the case of spiders or secret killers lurking behind my shower curtain, living alone is pretty ok.