Wednesday, September 26, 2012

On Becoming a Homebody

I've kind of always been a homebody. I prefer time to myself over time spent around others. It's not like I dislike people, really. My parents, at one time, thought that maybe I was suffering from something more than regular teenage angst, but I don't have a mental disease, either, no matter what my joke self-diagnosis of mild dissociative identity disorder may say. I'm just an introvert who likes to go back home after work and always disliked going to parties, even when my adolescent self wanted to be a part of the popular crowd. I absolutely loathed being forced into group projects at school, and I usually chose activities that required me to be solo. In order to graduate from high school, I had to have one P.E. credit, and the dance classes were all booked, so I chose the following sports: 1) golf (hahahaha, I held a club once and hit the ball even less times) and 2) track and field, in which I did long distance running. Sure, there were "teams," but I was pretty much by myself.

This is not to say that I don't get antsy. I totally do. I don't like being cooped up for too long, but my way of treating that problem is to go for a nice walk in the park, alone or with a friend or the husband. I'd take Zola with me, but the poor thing can't walk for more than 10 minutes at a brisk pace without looking forlornly at me, like, "We can go home now?" I also lovelovelove traveling. Experiencing new places is like a drug to me. But if you make me do it with more than, like, four people? You're asking for me to be a bitch the whole time. What I'm getting at here is, I don't just sit around my apartment, eating potato chips and playing campaigns on Mass Effect 3 all day.

What was nice about having a job outside of my house was just that: I got to leave and then I got to come home. It was a nice balance. My apartment was my refuge, a place I could recharge and vent and generally escape, and now? It's my office and living space. So, needless to say, it's a little weird. I don't even have the luxury of a car to get out, although to be fair, Three needs the car more than I do. And I'm not complaining. I'm right on a bus line, and I'm not working at DHS. Win/win.

But it is an adjustment. I'm used to relaxing here. My computer was my vegging out time, and now, it's my work station. I'm trying to develop some sort of schedule so I'm not doing what my mom thinks I do: play around on my computer, looking at video game demos and Etsy. It's HARD, you guys. I'm not used to putting goals in place for myself for something that is not for a IRL job. So I've enlisted Three to be my producer/manager/get the fuck off your ass and accomplish shit person. And yes, I fully intend my marriage to continue, even with this arrangement.

And now, to continue my day of productivity, I need to go clean the litter box and then finish editing part one of "A Million More to Go."
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...