So one day, it hits me, the house is clean, I have multiple boxes of leftovers in my fridge, and my night is filled with cleaning the patch of floor behind the TV and the fridge.
I am tragic!
But who the hell am I anyway?
Seriously, I've been so many things for so long, I don't know who or what I am now, time to start exploring.
I like marmalade. I like saxophone music. I want an adventure.
So I go make some great friends. And eat out a lot, and then come home.
And suddenly, I'm alone.
Which is ok.
I am my own person, and being on my own or in my own company is fine.
Being lonely isn't.
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