Monday, December 7, 2009
velvety, burgundy liquid in the stemmed glass warmed by my hands, more than actually sipping on it. A bit of sultry jazz playing softly in the background, or an old movie on tv, with the volume set either on low or off, because I know the story well enough by heart. I sometimes read, my selection seeming to run toward personal stories of everyday life, maybe the people section in the New York Times, or scanning through blogs that are emotional and heartfelt in nature. I don't want to hear the news and I avoid loud sounds and loud people. Food choices are simple, soups, toast, comfort foods. Sometimes I write in my journal, but usually not, there isn't anything new to write at this point, I've already been there and the words and feelings haven't changed. I don't stay in this mindset long, sometimes a few hours, sometimes a few days, jumping back into regular life when called upon. I can be alone in a crowd, but I prefer the serenity of being inside a room, preferably at home, inside my car, a great time to travel with no particular destination in mind, or under a soft and fuzzy blanket, that smells of being freshly laundered, on the couch or in bed. Being by myself. It's a time out of sorts. A regrouping, a mental and emotional feeding, a nurturing of mind and soul. I'm sure there are others like me, but I haven't talked to anyone about it. It's not the sort of thing that comes up in conversation, and when I am in that place, talking isn't something I care to do. Are you an alone time kind of person? I sometimes have those moments of feeling so different from others, of being a part of it all, and yet not being a part of anything, of not fitting in. A daisy amongst a bunch of roses. And in that same feeling, it is when I feel how much alike I must be with others, the feelings are the same, but the characteristics of the situation vary. That is what makes me want to share . . . that aspect of being different, while still being the same.