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valarltdIt struck me as I woke up this morning:
The activities real people consider the stuff of life--meals, socializing, outings, cuddling--I consider interruptions.
Meals have always been an annoyance and an interruption in my day, ever since I was a child. Breakfast was eaten alone, in a chilly kitchen, with no more than the light over the sink casting its cold blue-white fluorescence. Poptarts, cold cereal, instant oatmeal, toast, an egg if I felt up to the work. Bleh.
Lunch was taken in silence. We were not allowed to talk in the cafeteria. Doing so cost us recess. Lunch was usually PB&J, chips and an apple.
So I learned to minimize the interruption in my day by reading over breakfast and lunch.
Let's not even talk about dinner.
Dinner was where the cold war in the household broke into open hostility. There's a reason I never insisted on family mealtime. I just want to get it eaten and forgotten before I have a flashback and can't eat at all.
This is why I don't talk during meals. I am eating. If I say nothing, there can be no fight. No fight means I will be able to eat. I cannot eat when upset or stressed at the table.
Going out and about. No. Do not want. I'm busy, go away.
Ditto socializing. I can do it for limited periods, but pretty soon I get antsy and am ready to go home to whatever I was doing. I insist on not having a social life because it cuts into writing time.
It has been suggested I need to get out and do more fun things. I'm of the opinion that this interferes with working. I goof off enough. I don't need to be dragged out to goof off as well.
I put up with cuddles and such because Mudd insists. I am not the only person in the marriage.
I was not nostalgic or misty about not having to go to a band or choir concert this past Christmas. I was relieved.
Maybe I have it all wrong. But I've DONE these things. And I am done with them.
The activities real people consider the stuff of life--meals, socializing, outings, cuddling--I consider interruptions.
Meals have always been an annoyance and an interruption in my day, ever since I was a child. Breakfast was eaten alone, in a chilly kitchen, with no more than the light over the sink casting its cold blue-white fluorescence. Poptarts, cold cereal, instant oatmeal, toast, an egg if I felt up to the work. Bleh.
Lunch was taken in silence. We were not allowed to talk in the cafeteria. Doing so cost us recess. Lunch was usually PB&J, chips and an apple.
So I learned to minimize the interruption in my day by reading over breakfast and lunch.
Let's not even talk about dinner.
Dinner was where the cold war in the household broke into open hostility. There's a reason I never insisted on family mealtime. I just want to get it eaten and forgotten before I have a flashback and can't eat at all.
This is why I don't talk during meals. I am eating. If I say nothing, there can be no fight. No fight means I will be able to eat. I cannot eat when upset or stressed at the table.
Going out and about. No. Do not want. I'm busy, go away.
Ditto socializing. I can do it for limited periods, but pretty soon I get antsy and am ready to go home to whatever I was doing. I insist on not having a social life because it cuts into writing time.
It has been suggested I need to get out and do more fun things. I'm of the opinion that this interferes with working. I goof off enough. I don't need to be dragged out to goof off as well.
I put up with cuddles and such because Mudd insists. I am not the only person in the marriage.
I was not nostalgic or misty about not having to go to a band or choir concert this past Christmas. I was relieved.
Maybe I have it all wrong. But I've DONE these things. And I am done with them.
