I decided to stay in tonight. My mom isn't feeling well, and honestly I'm not either. I feel depressed/tired. I don't feel sad per se. But uninspired. And exhausted. Unmotivated. And unfulfilled. So yeah. Depressed. I just need to rest and recharge my battery. I don't know how I'll ever get there, but I keep trying. So I'm relaxing in bed right now. Typing away. Loading up The Witches of Eastwick on my computer while I do this. In a moment I will be enraptured with the soothing mental qualities of a good film with my comfy feather pillow at my back, and my warm blanket wrapped around my body. Dinner is in my tummy. The beastly dog is outside. And La Suprema is resting in her room. Laundry is going in the kitchen and I have responsibly canceled my plans, so no one is awaiting my arrival. I like this feeling. I sometimes think to myself that at the heart of me is a social recluse. I love hunkering down in my home and feeling protected and insulated from the noise and chaos of the world outside. I love nesting and relaxing in a private oasis. It's ironic that at this very moment, while I am waxing poetic about my love for privacy, my dog is perched upon the barbecue and is looking into my window and mawing at me, disrupting my peace. Oh well. Nothing's perfect. ...But I also love my friends. And I love experiencing new things. So yes. I am a social recluse. I want to be alone at times. And when I do, I love it.
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