One Of Those People (6/90)

"But your uninteresting is interesting to me."

That's what a friend told me as I was rushing to get home so that I could write this blog post. She asked about the writing for 90 days, and I admitted that I was worried, because my life isn't interesting and my thoughts on my life are even less interesting. 

I guess I'm not too worried though, because here I am writing anyway. 

***

It's Wednesday night, so some of my classmates are going out for drinks and dancing. I am home, where I am most nights. I've changed into my pajamas and I've got a lot to get done before I call it a night. It's the time in the semester when everything starts to pick up, and the routine that I've just begun to settle into is changing as the nights get longer and the days more stressful. 

People ask me to go out, a lot. I hardly ever go. And I love the people that ask. I love spending time with them. It's that going out is always seems to be a job. There are too many people to impress. I've got to be "on" for longer than I like to be. 

So, I make the choice to stay home and try to get ahead on homework, or read or catch up on my favorite shows. This works for me. 

***

One of my goals in life is to own a beach house. I can already see it. It's on a remote beach, one that tourist don't know how to find. It is roomy but not extravagant. There is a big open kitchen with pots that hang overhead. The couch is white with oversize pillows and seats that swallow you.

 I realized tonight that whenever I imagine myself in that house, I am alone. There was no feeling that accompanied that realization. It just was. I imagine myself sitting on that comfortable couch with my feet propped up as my laptop rests on one of those oversized pillows on my lap. 

I am not lonely, I am peaceful. 

***

I've begun to think that certain people are hard-wired to be alone. I may be one of those people. 

We are multifaceted creatures. We wear many masks, as one of my classmates said not long ago. There are a few places that we are unmasked though. Places where we are brave enough, free enough. Here, I am unmasked. At the beach house, I am unmasked. 

I am not afraid of living alone. In the beach house, or anywhere.

 I  am afraid that I will live my life unknown. Not to the masses, but to one. I’m afraid that my freedom and bravery to remain unmasked will not extend beyond this page, or the beach house.