I’ve lived alone for quite sometime. My usual routine is I walk in the door, up the stairs undress on my way up leaving a trail of partially wet clothing and dirt. Grabbing my laptop computer I’d walk into the kitchen find something on Hulu (or Netflix) and begin to cook a meal. Read Nachos.
I could sit in my apartment for hours — when not skating derby, or at work, and just watch tv on the internet. Hours of television into my brain. Yes, please.
I’m currently on a road trip to Georgia. I’ve driven down the coast of Oregon, through the coast and inland of California through mainland Texas and now I’m hanging out with friends. All of that driving? Completed by me. When I first got to my friend’s house I played Assassin’s Creed 3 for 3 days straight. Then I grew weary of that. Then I tried watching Hulu. By this time my queue was at 54 and that’s bizarre. I’m sitting down doing nothing currently and what I want to do is read my book “Staying Healthy with Nutrition.” I tried watching Hulu earlier, and just couldn’t do it. A few episodes of Grey’s played while I was rooting around in my car.
At what point does your brain say “…enough! stop! stimulate me!!”? I’m unemployed, unengaged, homeless, damn close to penniless, but I’m bobbing around in a sea of not sadness. Comfort. I’m bobbing in a sea of comfort. I’ve been eating so healthy Rebecca Wood would be proud. I’m exercising regularly and not too much. I started reading again. When did this happen? Did having a job turn me into a boob? Why? How does that happen? What is it about my lack of responsibilities that has turned me into the most humane version of myself I’ve been in years?