Solitude

I've always been afraid of the dark. It's silly and childish, but there I've admitted it. When I was really young I thought that I would never be able to live alone because I knew I would be too scared to get up for a drink of water. I had an illusion that everyone else had, somewhere along the line, gotten a really comprehensive monster combat training I missed. I would sit in my bed, covers pulled to my nose, with parched lips until morning light. Later I thought I could never live alone because I would get bored by myself and I wouldn't have an ounce of fun alone.

It turns out I was wrong on both accounts. I've been alone in my apartment, my roommates having not returned from the holiday break, for a week now. It has been a strangely enjoyable experience, despite my former reservations. I've been hiking and taking walks on the beach, reading, knitting and having an all around good time all by myself.

As my friends arrive back from their trips home and I tell them that I've already been here for a week I hear things akin to "Oh you poor thing." And I guess I just let them sympathize for me because it would be much easier, and would spare me more doubtful looks, than explaining how much fun it's been.