My Addiction

There was a time when I was a social butterfly. Really. I kid you not. I was a cheerleader. I was in all the church plays. I sang in every choir that would have me. I signed up for every parental obligation from room mother to dugout mother to scorekeeper to Sunday school teacher. There are people who read my blog now who knew me then and who will have a really hard time hearing the next sentence:

I want to be left alone.

I mean, not always. I dutifully and cheerfully get up every morning here at the mountain house and 50.2% of the time I make coffee for my mom and let the dogs out and settle my happy little lappy in Pop's recliner in front of the mega-tv and that's where I spend my day. There are occasional errands to be run and sometimes I draw the short straw and have to run them. Austin inevitably always needs something or other. I feed the other inhabitants of the house - real food or kibble - depending on their placement on the evolutionary chart (I don't believe in evolution). I make an effort every day to put on clothes that were not the same clothes I slept in (although most of my clothes can transition from day wear to evening wear quite handily) I either braid or ponytail my Roseanne-Roseanna-Danna hair into something that won't frighten small children or make my niece Tiffany say, "Girl... you need a relaxer on that hair!". About every other day I put on makeup. Not drag queen like - just a little bit of magic to keep from looking like I've completely given up.

I hang out on the main level of the house with mom and the three dogs and three cats for the bulk of the day. She suffers through whatever court drama I'm watching (George Zimmerman trial) and tolerates The Five although she doesn't quite appreciate their humor yet. She's learning. We watch Toddlers and Tiaras and pick the girl who is the least brat to win. And then, unless there's something particularly interesting on tv, I go back downstairs to my little den/bedroom in the Whine Cellar and look at the lake until it gets dark. And after it gets dark I hold little kitty over my shoulder like a baby being burped and we watch the lightning bugs. Just when he's tracked one down - FLASH - another one grabs his attention. It's our bonding time. We start our day looking outside together and we end our day looking outside together and I cherish those moments in the way that only a crazy cat lady truly can.

My mom was one of seven kids. She had five kids and never managed to get completely empty nested because as the youngest kid moved out, the oldest grandchild moved in. She likes company. She likes to read the internet to you. She shares her commentary on whatever program we're watching and asks lots of questions so that she understands what's going on. It's absolutely precious bonding time that few mothers and daughters really get to have on a consistent basis. My pain has led me to the past of least resistance and that path ends up here at the mountain house spending the Summer of 2013 with my mama. These are, without a doubt, the happiest times I have had in a very long time.

But the hard truth is that I'm an anti-social extrovert. I'm good at being around people. I'm not afraid to talk to people. It has been said that I have a tendency to draw people to me. Only. I don't want to. Darby damaged me to the extent that I don't let myself form close bonds or any dependence on others. I'm most comfortable when I'm self-sufficient and the next best thing to being self-sufficient is being with mama and daddy. And that's about as big as I want my world to be right now. Even with my own children, I don't call them because I don't want to intrude in their life. I wait for them to reach to me. And even with the good times we're having... my mama and me... I reach a point every evening when I just want to be alone. In my Whine Cellar. With my Trouble Kitty. Watching the lightning bugs or the butterflies or the birds. Just this tight little circle that includes me and my cat.

That is my reward for a day of coming out of my anti-social cloud long enough for my mom to not feel lonely: I get to go be alone. I love my Whine Cellar. I love my little den. I love the gorgeous view of the lake and how cool this lowest level is. I love the peace and quiet. I love my space. When Pop was here this past weekend I spent more time down here because mom had Pop to keep her company. And then, of course, Pop thought I was avoiding him. I wasn't. I was just letting him have a turn and indulging myself in a little solitude.

Ultimately, if I were to be truly analytical about things, I would say that I'm probably damaged from my time with Darby and the couple of rejections that happened before and after him. I'm probably just a few steps on the path that old maids and bitter brokenhearted women find themselves on... the road to having a house full of cats and a hoard of newspapers. I would worry about this great desire to be alone if I didn't just so very much enjoy being alone. It's not like I'm on crack or anything. My addiction is solitude. Peace. Quiet. Me and the cat and a thousand of my closest internet friends. I love times with friends and I'm ok when those times are over and I can post the photos and reminisce. I like being alone with my thoughts.

So what do you think? Do I have a problem? Do I need psychological intervention? Or am I just a girl who really loves her space? Happy Friday-eve, y'all. Love and hugs!