I like to think I’m a social being. I love people. Love being around them. Those who are exactly like me and those entirely unlike me. Love learning bits and pieces about how they live their lives. Love laughing at them and, equally, having them laugh at me. [Because there is nothing more enjoyable in my mind than when true life experience leaves a footprint of fond memories that provoke honest, deep laughter.] There’s so much I would have missed, or maybe just unknowingly lived without, had I been the type to stay home, pass, opt out. But most of the time I’m not, and I don’t typically end up with time that’s all my own.

This weekend, however, I was almost completely alone [less the brief lunch with a friend yesterday and a short work event Saturday mid-morning]. And. it. was. stupendous. The roommate is gone for work and so are most of my other people in town. And while I could have easily pulled myself together and formulated some social plans, I chose instead to spend time with my fav. Yep. Me, myself and I. It had been a while since we’d last buckled down, put things down on paper, played that lovely little Seagull we’re so proud of, rediscovered hidden thoughts and ideas that only seem to reveal themselves in forced silence, watched an old movie that’s new to us, slept soundly and cooked a seriously random yet delicious breakfast for dinner. Me, myself and I. We’re the best of old friends. And sometimes, you can only remember how much you value one or the other when you decide to get together after a long time apart.

Sincerely,

Sally B.