I’m easily overwhelmed and overstimulated. Living, in general, is too much. At work there are fluorescent lights, and people, and talking, and more people. Commuting there are cars merging into me, and people, and honking, and cars cutting me off. The world is just a busy place, and it’s full of loud noises, bright lights, and people rushing around. It’s a lot for this introvert to handle.
Sometimes I like to come home, grab a stack of books, a drink, and my computer, and lock myself in my bedroom.
It’s kind of weird, I know. My house is empty other than me, and yet here I am, locked in a room. But the living room is too big. It has to be the bedroom. And to feel like I can just relax, the door has to be locked. So I have a few neurosis. We all do. I’ll accept yours, if you accept mine. Okay?
Back to the details of this whole reclusive, weirdo habit:
Clearly I’m wearing pajama pants.
Clearly I have no plans to leave my bed until tomorrow. (Unless I need to get ice cream from the freezer, or go to the bathroom.)
It’s a little thing, but spending an evening by myself, in a place I’m comfortable and safe, surrounded by my favorite things… it’s wonderful. It’s refreshing. If I could, I would spend occasional weekends like this. (It would be perfect if that weekend was in a hotel with room service!)
I’m the kind of person who prefers small spaces. Small spaces full of the things I need. When I was little, I spent some time sleeping in a cupboard, but that’s a different story for a different day. If I had the money for it, I’d buy a tiny house tomorrow, and live in it permanently. I can’t afford that right now though, so instead I hide in my bedroom, and pretend that’s the only part of my house that exists.
It works for me.
So now it’s time for me to go be covered in books, and crawl into my little hole where I can be alone and refresh.