Solitary pastime

Do you even know what this means? Do you know how important it is? Normal would be to have ten hours of it per day. You call me crazy, but in reality, you’re just scared of it, you’re afraid of yourself. I’m not saying this about everyone, only to those who accuse me of flirting with Houellebecq-ian and Cioran-ian principles. I already told you that I’m different from them, on the outside anyway.
What do you care about what really fuels my engine? I’m smiling at you right now, aren’t I? That should be all that counts. After all, I have hope, which means I’m no longer scared, just tired, but I can’t afford to be. There’s too much to do and a lot to learn. Too many people to tell that they are not worth it and too many left to kiss. Six kisses in your life just aren’t enough. People get to a point where they lose count, and I want to get there, too.
Yes, I had a fabulous weekend on my own, and I will have it again. I’m not going to call you unless I’m ok with it. Have you got a problem with it? Then let’s end the friendship right here. At least I’m not saying I’m going to call you when I need something, I said I’m going to call you when I’m ok with it – big difference. I think about my friends all the time, how often do I have to tell you? Once I know I’m due for a “hello,” I will fucking say hello.
I’ve been reading Houellebecq’s latest book, and I like how faithful he is to his style. It still makes me smile when he separates his protagonist from human-beings. And he loves choosing gorgeous women to be his girlfriends – there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I wish I was dating a cardiac surgeon, and I wish I was one myself. But Houellebecq, despite his stance towards society and life, he is a delight. He’s wonderful. Come on, we’re talking about a writer who falls asleep during interviews.
I can’t wait to move out and have a place of my own, maybe not in this bloodsucking country. I thought my new room was nice, but I’ve started feeling claustrophobic, I have no proper space to move around, no fan that extracts the steam while cooking, etc. I can hardly do my Pilates on that soft depressing double bed. There’s hardly space to move my mouse on the table. At the weekends, the neighbours are noisy, and about twice a week, my landlady’s daughter and granddaughter come to visit, which makes me hold my bladder to avoid going to the downstairs toilet. Sick, I know. But I don’t want to socialise, you see, not even a hello. And when I pee in her bathroom, they can hear it in the dining room, because the fucking door doesn’t shut properly. Though, I’m not making it obvious how I despise socialising. My landlady still thinks I’m a delightful person. And the granddaughter looks at me as if I was her favourite doll – but I’m not having this. Talking about kids staring at me – I’ve always thought that it had something to do with my skin colour or my eyes, but it’s not true. The other day on the tube, there was an Oriental baby in the pram. It stared at me as if I was a disease. God, these fucking creatures!
Although things are pretty much settling down, I’m still in such a hurry. I don’t get home from work until about six or seven-ish, and by the time it’s nine, I’m already in bed. This is not life, is it? I have to work on my routine still – how much I hate routines.
Fuck, my room still smells of soy sauce. Cooking my lunch a night before is horrible, but yes, it saves me money. It’s just that reheated food isn’t healthy, not only that, it tastes shit once it’s been reheated in the microwave. I threw today’s pasta with pesto away. It tasted dry and disgusting.
When it comes to writing and reading, I only have little space for these activities. But at least I have space just not regularly. Therefore weekends have become MY days. And if I don’t want to see you, you can take it personally. It means you know shit about me, and right now, I seriously don’t have the nerves to explain who I am to you. I do a lot of things on my own: I travel, go to opera/cinema/gym/park/ etc. on my own. If I want to invite you along, I will ask you. By all means, I haven’t forgotten about you. But you’re offended, you don’t care, and honestly, I don’t care about you feeling this way. As I said it’s up to you to put an end to it, I’m done explaining.
Sincerely, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you as a person. But it’s time for you to believe what you want.
This may be hard to understand, but I know it makes sense to you in a way, although we have different ideas about friendship, human interaction and communication. Just let me go to bed now.

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