Daily prompt.

What’s the most time you’ve ever spent apart from your favorite person? Tell us about it.

I’ve thought about it, and I can’t say I really have a favourite person. I have people I like, sure. People who’s blogs I enjoy, of course.

An actual favourite person?

Nope, don’t think so.

I suppose I could choose my dude as a favourite person, in which case the amount of time is probably about 3 years. Then again, is he still my favourite person? After leaving me to fend for myself, returning to a life of certainty and comfort, as opposed to spending time with, what he called, his dream woman? So no. He will always be my love. But favourite person? Probably not so much.

All in all, I don’t have a favourite person.

Mostly because they’re all people. and people are not quite what I need to give my life any meaning. I love my kids, and my mom and sister – do I want to spend all my time with them? I do not. If I see them once a week, it’s fine by me. Or even once a month. It works better that way.

I sometimes wonder why I choose to be a “Bitch Hermit” as my son calls me. Is it really because I’m scared of the emotional attachments you can make with people? Or is it because, sometimes, I listen to these people and I know I have nothing to say to them? I hear what they say, and I realise my opinion in this situation will not be conducive to a healthy discussion. I look at their lives and I can see that I have no place there.

Why bother then? Why go to the rigmarole of going out, sitting around being either bored, or incensed with fury, but not be able to say or do anything about it? Forging a path around drunk people, getting irritated because they have no sense of personal space. Trying to get a word in edgewise, and being shot down because, in the world of people, apparently only their own opinions count.

And if I’m going to have to be quiet in any case, I’d much rather be quiet at home where I can read a book, or bugger around on the internet, or sleep or something.

I’ve been at my loneliest while I was married, and the ex would have his huge parties. I had nothing to say to these people, no common ground with them. So I stopped trying to join in. and more often than not, I could be found in my workspace, painting or sanding something down, while the sounds of merriment filtered through the door.

In closing.

I’ve been away from my love for close to three years. And it will probably morph into many more years.

But I don’t have a favourite person, other than Sam Vimes, and him I can visit any time I pick up a Discworld novel.

 

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