Solitary confinement

9 May

I need to preface all of this by saying I’m not complaining.

Well, I am complaining. A  little. But it’s not a what’s wrong with them, so much as a what’s wrong with me.

Let’s back up.

I have no idea how to live around people. When Husband and I moved to Chicago, it was me, husband, and Kobe. Eventually we added Marty. And that was it. We did what we wanted, we came and go as we pleased. We had some friends, but no one to really feel obligated to. And we would trek back to Michigan about twice a year, and cram all the family fun into a week or so before returning to our mostly solitary existence. Things were divided, but it was comfortable. If I wanted to ignore everyone for a week and watch marathons of cooking shows, I could. That was life for about five years.

It sounds like it could be lonely, I suppose, but it wasn’t terribly. We still had access to everyone by the internet and phone. It was quiet. Peaceful?

Now, we’re within striking distance of a multitude of different relatives. Everyone wants to go somewhere, and do something, birthday parties and dinners and barbecues. And we’ve only been here a week. I’m overwhelmed. I’m not used to this much interaction. I’m like a social camel. One great social interaction can last me months while I hole up in my couch nest ranting about frosting on the internet. I know, too, that our presence is sort of like a new toy, and once we’ve been here for a while it’s likely everyone won’t feel the need to get all together in every spare minute. I also know this is how it was for me in the Before Time, and I will adjust accordingly to human interaction.

But until it dies down, I’m just so, so tired. Good thing espresso exists.

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