Living alone brings us to love and hate ourselves at the same time. We start the day spread-eagled on the king-sized bed with the clear morning chimes of an alarm clock, patting it hard, to go back to sleep, but wishing that there was somebody to lend a voice to that nagging feeling saying "it's time to get up, you are late!". The day is spent in the pursuance of success and perfection, and yet, we loathe the man in the next office who goes home on the dot of five to go pick his in-laws up from the airport. We want to show off about the amazing speeds we achieved on our last snow-boarding session, or the speech we wrote for the wedding toast of a friend, but we would rather not have anyone telling us about how their poker night went. We are incredibly competetive about being the guys on every girl's mind, but cannot find the will to commit to the sweet lady who longs for us. We long for space, wanting to gain more and more for ourselves alone, and then, we are seldom home, because we can't take the silence. It is interesting what the complete rule over one's life can do to an individual.
2 comments:
I really like this post. I live alone...well, in the sense that you mean, though I have a roommate. Horrible roommate, actually. But anyway, I am also never home...because I can't stand the silence. I don't envy the stories the attached tell about family life...that doesn't appeal at all...but the voice in the morning bit...that I feel as well. Haven't had it all that often and never thought that I'd come to like it...but it is quite an amazing thing...sharing one's bed for the whole night...into the next day.
I've missed coming here...can't wait til you have time to post again.
Intimidated by your observation and ease. Though i think poetry may not be your scene
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