“With so much personality, what do you want from me?
I could be by myself and enjoy the company…”
After two weeks in my home, I was excited to put on real clothes and a few swipes of mascara to head back to the office today.
Because if sitting on my couch screaming at episodes of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (by season five, every episode is End Game-level stress and who the fuck has the energy?) for ten days taught me anything worth knowing about myself, it’s the limits of my own company. Yes, I have a rich inner life. And years of experience as an only child. And nearly two years of COVID hermitting, but I am at the end of this particular rope. Yes, humanity is dangerously dumb and willfully ignorant and the world is stupid and there is a whole new round of plague in the air…
I do not care.
To the degree that I can do so safely, I want out.
A trip to the museum and Christmas lights and retail shopping and birthday dinners that I’ll even go so far as to get a full face of makeup for. Give me all the holiday cheer. All the revelry. All the sweater dresses that will have the privilege of gracing all these womanly curves.