So, I now live on my own. Entirely. Well, me and the cat. Its a different existence for sure. I have found that I need to be somewhat disciplined to make it work. Seems contrary to what one would expect. Really, the notion of living alone could suggest utter independence, self-sufficiency, self-reliance, and freedom. It can be all those things for sure, but it can also be lonely, isolated, and frustrating. Frustrating in that I am it, just me. There is no sharing of chores, no in-house second opinion or sounding board, no voice of reason. Isolated in that once I am inside my little house, it’s on me to reach out and engage my friends if I am feeling low. Lonely obviously because the cat, charming as he may be, is not the most stimulating of company.
As a result I have learned some coping mechanisms that work for me. I have learned to be more structured in my activities. It’s easy to zone out in front of the television, but it’s not healthy. So I ensure I work out before the tv goes on. My go-to for dinner for the first year or so after Kev died was a cup of tea and about 8 Ritz crackers (god I love those things), but that’s not very healthy. So now it’s a planned meal, always a little prep involved because that uses up some time too.
I tend to plan my weekends well in advance. Have someone over, or go out some place. There are a lot of people just like me, on their own, not in a relationship, and just looking for stuff to do. It takes a bit to get used to arriving places solo, or going someplace on your own, and I am not quite to the point where I will go to a movie on my own, but I’m getting there. Oh and then there’s on line dating…. lol that’s a story for another time. I never would have ever expected to be where I am, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles, isn’t it?