I’m usually pleased as punch to find myself alone. I am my own best company, and there are few people with whom I’d rather be. If that sounds ostentatious, so be it. I like myself and when I am in my own fine company, I’m never bored.
I can, in fact, sit in an empty room and be totally fine. I’ve tried this numerous times and have never been disappointed. Time passes quickly. My mind wanders and I think about many varied and trivial things, and while none of these constitutes an epiphany, the incredible flow and flavor of the minutia keeps me awake and alert.
In the empty room, I look up. Cracks in the ceiling spider in a million directions and remind me of tire spokes and my thoughts turn to bicycling and travel and where would I like to go and how will I fund the trip?
My tongue traces the contour of my teeth and then I’m in the dentist’s office, a little shop of horrors, and I’m recalling how much I sweat when they scrape and clean the plaque I’ve accumulated, and what about the assistant who saw me dripping and said, quite pointedly, “I didn’t realize it was so hot in here.”
I wish I could bottle and sell my thoughts, but first I’d have to find customers who like themselves as much as I like me, and who value my thoughts for the jewels that they are.
My current alone, though, is one that I don’t particularly savor. I am not only without man, I am also without beast. The two hairy Labs who find me endlessly entertaining are at the kennel. I delivered them just this afternoon, and there they’ll remain for five days until my husband returns home and retrieves them. We have separate travel obligations, he and I, and the mutts are temporary orphans.
My flight leaves in the morning, which means I have an evening without two curs sprawled on the couch, or lounging on the floor near the woodstove. I am missing two wet noses to pull when I walk past, and minus four eyes tracing my every movement.
But I’m fine, you see, because I have me. And me is very good company.