I don’t have a girlfriend. I don’t have many friends. But do you see me moping around acting like a homesick boarding school teenager? No!
For some strange reason I enjoy being alone and by myself most of the time. Strange because man has evolved into a social being with all the responsibilities and rights that come with such an evolution. This involves among other things making friends, keeping the good ones, cutting off the bad ones etc. Alas this evolution left me behind.
By myself I feel less fidgety and nervous. I don’t get that feeling that a thousand pairs of eyes are on me scrutinizing my every move – from nose picking to sneezing. I get to think better when I’m alone too. I doubt any kind of productive thinking can occur with the whole world watching, and God forbid reading your thoughts as they form in that little coconut of yours.
Most of the things I think about are about efficiency in my day-to-day dealings with the world. When to wake up, what to do right out of bed and more importantly what time I allocate to these things, until I hit the bed late at night. Thinking is one thing, doing is quite another. So then I ask myself why think at all if I don’t get any of these things done, and done right? Well, I can’t help myself. I don’t see myself doing any other important thing in my leisure time other than think. I’m no Gandhi or Einstein but I’m a thinker, of sorts. Give me an isolated room atop a mountain anywhere in the world, that’s not too cold and I might end up coming up with a solution to the Israel-Palestine conflict, global hunger and poverty, AIDS and understanding those aliens we call women. Hell, I’ll even cool the planet if you throw in twelve dozen chilled six-pack beers.
Back to the girlfriend issue. The last one I had dumped me (I never get to do the dumping) in 2008 because she wants more out of life than I could give her, money-wise. That’s it. She didn’t leave because I was a lousy lover in and out of bed, or because I did really bad things like chewing with my mouth open.
That whole experience left me really fucked up. Should I have just manned up and forget the bitch and move on? If I could I would have. I happen to be the sensitive kind so matters of the heart do matter to me.
But lately I’ve found that I’ve become more interested again. I’ve started looking around but I still haven’t found any suitable mates ( Jezzus I sound like David Attenborough talking about Orangutan breeding habits). So in the mean time it’s just me and my thinking sessions and my lubricants 😉