The secret lives we lead

I’ve been uncharacteristically social this week, as in the week when the other one’s working and I’m on my own. And it got me thinking, because I always fear not having enough time for myself. I’m scared of people wearing me out. Because they’ve done that for so many years.

I see it as reclaiming power and a self-preservation thing. But it got me thinking! Time for what? How do I charge? Do you ever think about that, what you do when nobody’s watching? The essence of yourself?

The realness is almost too real to share with the real world. I see myself as one of the lucky ones. I’m in a relationship that allows me to still get alone-time on a regular basis. It has it’s down-sides, but it does keep a loner sane. These are some og the things I do:

No washing of the face in the morning. Besides my eyes, I just let those natural oils give my skin a treat and keep my dirty paws off of it. No make up. Wash and moisturize before sleep.

Eat dinner at two/three o’clock. Four at the latest. I know that a hot meal mid-day is something people around the world refer to as lunch. We don’t. Norwegians eat brødskive med pålegg at lunch. Knekkebrød if you’re healthy. Or if you just prefer it. No shame in anyone’s food game. We save our left-overs or newly prepared hot meals for the occasion that is Dinner. When I choose to eat again (at dinner-time usually, around seven) I call it kveldsmat. Eveningfood. And is normally what Norwegians have for lunch.

I almost never eat meat. It’s expensive and I rarely want it, and I’m happy eating boring food based on basically different sorts of pasta and chickpeas.

I wear pajamas all day every day.

Jokes. I do that when the other one’s home too.

I sleep with my curtains a bit open. I love waking up being reminded it’s a new day and yesterday is the past. Was yesterday good, you start again. Do good, again. Was it bad, today don’t have to be.

I talk to myself. Sometimes to the reality shows that dominates my screen as well while I’m working.

Good morning, me.

I do more housework. Everything is neat. Clean. I throw stuff away. Donate. Sometimes I clean out the other one’s closet. One colorful slogan t shirt at a time.

I drop all work at nine, then I watch crime-series. Currently Broen.

I never skip intro’s. Netflix. And I’m still watching.

Pee with the door open.

I drink less alcohol. Probably because I’m not very social. I’m usually not with people unless there’s alcohol involved. I don’t get why I would meet a friend that I’m kind of close to for a hike. Or coffee. Or anything that’d get my heart rate up. Coffee is best at home.

Have more evening snacks. Or, you know, more kveldsmat. Nibble.

Run more.

Bite my nails more.

I groom more. Foot baths. Pedicures. Hair masks, face masks.

Looking at this it’s quite obvious I’m in a subconsciously state of bettering myself in some way when I’m home alone. Grooming, cleaning, over-analyzing what my body’s telling me at all times, not drinking or doing anything remotely ‘damaging’ that could possibly lead to anxiety. Or being tired or feeling overwhelmed. Not on top of it. Just focusing on my fucking self all the time.

It’s a good thing I get that week+ to do that. But I’m also grateful I have someone to stop me from being constant submissive to my fears. I think I’d be cutting myself off from the rest of the world without, living by myself as a single woman with social challenges working from her own apartment.. And that I’d live life scared to go out without having done my routines perfectly, feeling perfect. My threshold would be so high. Quirks grow as we get older, and the more time we change life from happening because of them.  And loneliness is a very dangerous thing. Getting a cat is nice, but sometimes when I’ve been cooped up in my apartment for a couple of days, taking out the trash or going to buy more honey can be challenging. Even cheese.

So today I joined a gym via the internet. No binding contract membership obviously. Don’t wanna give myself anxiety. But it’s snowing and this wind isn’t doing my rosacea any favors. So the treadmill is calling. I’ll do it for a month or two. At least till it doesn’t look like this anymore.

Point is. I try to do what feels right. But try to make sure I stay in not because I fear the opposite, but because it feels good. Then you go out. You’ll know when. Right before the fear of leaving your controlled environment kicks in. Not earlier than you’ve dared to be yourself with yourself a little bit. Don’t be Leonardo DiCaprio in The Aviator. Be more like Winona.

Girl, Interrupted.