Small Voctories

Been “dating” this guy...I put 'dating' in quotation marks because I dislike all the weird stigmas and dogmas that ride in on the coattails of labels like that.

Anyway, we had one of those 'boundary defining' conversations that are quite necessary when both parties tend to put labels in quotation marks...and it was a most peculiar experience.

Knowing that this particular conversation was inevitable, I already had a statement prepared, neatly folded into the back of my brain, ready to go when the moment came. But I never got to say much—or, more accurately, I didn't have to. It's unusual to hear your own thoughts tumbling out of someone else's mouth almost verbatim, but there they were, practically plagiarized from my very own brainfiles.

The only notable difference was that he likes his alone-time because he has an established set of solitary routines, and I need alone-time because I seem to have forgotten what I enjoy doing alone.

My skill-based hobbies are...diminished and rusty. I enjoy them less now because it is apparent I have come to suck at them. I still do them, but it is exercise; a thing I do for my own good. Eventually I will relish the burn, but until then—like a big, fat guy really determined to fit into those size 32 pants again, I can only huff and puff and sweat and cry into the treadmill of my old hobbies.

While I whittle the fat from down around my creative muscles, I have to settle for the small victories of self-rediscovery, and that brings me to whole point of my story.

Eating microwaved top ramen from a mug in the middle of the night is apparently something I enjoy doing by myself.