lovely alone

Last night I did something almost unheard of.

Yesterday afternoon, I was itching. It could’ve been the weather – being all rainy and stuff – but I was dying to get home. And be alone. All by myself. No answering of phonecalls, no making of phonecalls, just hanging with Peas.

I spent time alone, because I wanted to. Actually wanted to.

I figure, after two relationships, one distinguishably long one, one sort-of brief one - straight after another – the coming to grips with being totally alone and being happy otherwise forever, was so overwhelming, the thought made me want to curl up and die.
For six and a half years, I’d practically always had someone.

Since being single, I’ve gone through four stages of being alone. The first, not handling it, and arranging to go out with mates all the time; the second, realising I couldn’t go out every single night, so therefore phoning everyone every night. The third, being alone and not being comfortable in my own company, and now the fourth: itching for time alone, and absolutely enjoying it.

So I did the usual, but with glee. Had a long bath, listened to music, watched Desperate Housewives, made myself an Indian curry, even went through my itemised cellphone bill to check nobody had somehow got a-hold of my phone and rung Libya, and actually enjoyed it. Turned down a coffee get together in the afternoon, didn’t made or pick up any phonecalls.

OK, OK a teensy little lie: I picked up one call. But I’d never seen the number before, so curiosity got the better of my cat, so to speak.
It was Mandog Guy. But let’s change that name now, since, anything with ‘Mandog’ in it doesn’t sound too flattering.
He shall be called…Crisp White Shirt Guy.
Since he was wearing that last night, and he did look kinda good. He’s pretty funny, seriously creative and confident. Crisp White Shirt Guy and I have a date for Sunday, and we’re watching The Castle at his house. How great is that?

Anyway, anyway, back to being alone and loving it. Where was I again?

OK, alone time. Yes. I am settling in for what I think might be a docile weekend. Sure, I will probably hit a pub, or go boogie spontaneously, and oh yes, there’s my movie date on Sunday.
I love that Sunday is chilled, just watching a movie. Not so sure I remember how to do the whole dinner thing, and I’m scared that sort of pressure right now will send me running. So this is good. Yes. This is good. Although that said, I miss going to restaurants with just someone. The wine, the food, the bar rash, the everything-about–the-gentle-nuzzling-beneath-the-table, then when getting to know them better, the going-home-together-and-taking-off-of-clothes-in-a-frenzy scenario. Perhaps soon.

Crisp white shirts look great on men.

Still. OK. Still. I’ve finally learnt to deal with myself, and I don’t even need to buy a cat. This is terribly comforting in itself.