I learned from an early age to enjoy my own company. When you have a much younger sibling and a mom who had high standards to live up to, it was a relief to finally be by yourself and let your guard down. I discovered the magic of books in kindie (that’s when I learned to read) and those moments alone became even more enjoyable. All the more reason now that when people exclaim incredulously at the fact that I choose to live alone (pre-Stinky) or sneer at my staying in on a Friday night to snuggle down with a book, it upsets me more than it really should. Sue me, but I have feelings too a couple days before my period hits. Most of the time, these are the people I could care less about (but no so much so that I wouldn’t pee on them if they were on fire), but what really nags is if they’re your own friends and family.
My reasoning is if I don’t judge you for spending insane amounts of money on alcohol and living your life in perpetual stupor or having to pay to have sex, then don’t bloody judge me for being a homebody geek. I’ve done my time in clubs, thank you very much. Been there, done that and it’s not something I want to do every single night anymore. Don’t condescendingly look down your nose at me and declare that I have no life and I’m wasting my youth. What youth? 😉
I guess when the manual for How to Behave When You’re in Your Twenties was passed around, I got a defective copy. Sorry. Now I gotta go and get back to my book.