I absolutely love being alone. I enjoy my own company and the noise of my thoughts, not to be too egotistical but I find myself rather interesting. I spent my five years of university deliberately single to enjoy it as much as could and find myself as an individual, it was the best decision I’ve ever made. When I find myself lost, or rather don’t find myself anymore, I take time off people and be alone.
My favourite thing to do is to take myself for drinks. That feeling of being mysterious. Who is she? A traveller, a writer, a PI undercover? No one knows and I can just pretend. I take a book, a notebook and a pen. I spend the evening people-watching and writing stories about them, talking to the bartenders or reading a book cover to cover. I am fully aware of how cliché this can be and have no problem embracing it.
I blast Hot Blooded by Foreigner, pour my first coffee of the day and sing in the kitchen. I draw a bath with plenty of bubbles, get a drink and read a book. Watch one of my favourite shows (on repeat: HIMYM, Bones, Derry Girls or Castle) or an F1 race with the best pizza delivery in town and a spicy bloody mary. And the ultimate cliché: go home after a long day, get a glass of Shiraz and work on a top-secret project, the type that needs red thread and pictures pinned to a wall. I do realise most of my time alone sounds like it involves alcohol but that’s not the point.
It is as simple as waking up earlier than usual and enjoying the quietness of early mornings when everyone is still asleep and the world is close to a stop or staying up at night. Those have always been my favourite hours, thank god I don’t need a lot of sleep. Yet, I recently changed my rhythm and grew up: I adopted regular hours. The hours following everyone’s life. But I know where to go to find myself again. The point is, I know what I like and what I need in order to be me and not be a miserable-irritable piece of shit.