On Being Solo

July 13, 2010

I’m three days into my solo-time.  So far, not digging it so much.

The timing is unfortunate.

I can’t even count the times during the busy school year, the busy work year, the tougher parenting moments, that I think “if I could just get 24 hours to be alone …”

But this 10 day stretch came about when I was relaxed, after vacation, and enjoying each member of my family immensely.

And then I came back to work to face a little drama, and could use the distractions that squabbling teenage sisters provide, or to settle in and watch a movie with my husband.

That being said, I do not at all mind my evenings alone.  I have been reading, cooking, sitting out on the deck with my dinner, chatting with the neighbors and enjoying the cooler evenings (thank god).

The real problem is the night-time.  I keep freaking myself out.

I’m sure it’s my own fault.  I am reading a very creepy (but excellent) book: The Passage (an all engrossing Stand-like novel.  I am loving it.)  There is nothing in me that feels that the things in the book are going to happen to me – like if I were reading In Cold Blood — about something that did and could happen. But apparently, I’m still freaking out.

I lie in bed with the cat sprawled all over me picturing what it would be like if I were to open my eyes and see someone standing in my bedroom doorway (and lucky me, there are TWO bedroom doorways!)  How scary would that be?  And so then I’m scared.

What the hell am I?  12?

(No, because if I were 12, I would be in my third year of staying awake all night, scared to death that The Hand was going to crawl out from the slats of my closet door and kill me.)

The problem seems to be the air conditioner.  (Well, the second level problem.  The first-level problem is clearly my brain.)  With the window unit on, and my bedroom doors closed, I can’t hear anything in the house.  It makes me feel isolated and also exposed, all at once.  I try to sleep, but I just can’t.  I’m too busy staring through the crack in the doorways (left open just a little, so the cat can come & go while the cool air mostly stays in), wondering if the towel rack in the bathroom is actually a psychopath ready to pounce.  So I get up, turn off the air conditioner, open the windows, and then fall asleep without too much difficulty.

For about an hour.

Then I wake up drenched in sweat, because it’s 80 degrees out at night.  By then, my brain has calmed down enough that  I can close the windows, turn on the air conditioner, and go back to sleep.  Hopefully.

It’s really very exhausting.

Fortunately, there are only 340 pages left to this (awesome) book.  I was going to then watch the second season of True Blood (taking up 3 out of 4 of my Netflix discs!), but I may have to take a break from creepiness, just so I can get a solid night’s sleep.  Maybe Friday Night Lights.  Or Weeds.  Or depressing indie films.


One comment

  1. […] then it kind of sucked.  It just wasn’t as fun as I […]

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