I am a girl who likes her alone time.

Not saying that I prefer to be alone, I am a social creature, but I like that breathing time. I need that breathing time. That time to lie in my bed underneath eight comforters or to sit outside encased in the quiet night … and just breathe.

The work travel, comprised of thirteen-hour days followed by dinners and cocktails with co-workers, has inhibited that time. I am starting to feel suffocated. Not to be misunderstood, I like this new position and like what I am doing; the travel, the socializing, the new enviornment and the variety are all very enjoyable. I just wish the day had a few more hours to hold my alone time.

And I refuse to believe that my affinity for being alone will cause me to live my life alone. I am capable of relationships, romantic or otherwise. I just need a balance.

I found that my biggest problem with a long-distance relationship was not trust or future uncertainty or loneliness –ok, loneliness would make the top ten –but that I needed to share my alone time with him; that time allocated for breathing was spent talking. On those hard days where all I needed was to lie with him on the couch and breathe and piece myself together, I instead was required to make a phone call and talk through my day. Because talking was all we had and I needed to share something to remain connected. And the alternative: share empty space over the phone? Well, Darth Vader, that’d just be creepy.

The two years after college were some of the most difficult in my life. And as I was struggling and depressed and miserable, what I needed most was to be held by the guy I loved, as horrible and cringe-worthy as that sounds. I needed that couch time with that warm body who stayed quiet and understood that I was piecing my sanity together. But I couldn’t have that. Instead, I had the phone. The phone that required talking. All the time with the talking. I picked many fights and lashed out many times in anger and from frustration because the cold phone could not, no matter how much I wanted it to, transcend into him, the warm body, the guy I loved who just let me be. The suffocation caused desperation and cloudy vision; I wasn’t sure how to fix myself or our situation. I picked more fights … because that made sense? He grew frustrated with his role as my dartboard (yeah, I don’t know why, that sounds like a good time to me, he’s always been so unreasonable.), and he pushed away as a result.

Neither of us handled the situation well. But then, that’s hindsight talking.

This single life has taught me how much I need my time and space to just be. To maintain what little sanity I still possess. And me crazier than this? Yeah, not something I want to think about either.  The work thing has been ok, though somewhat suffocating, but not enough to induce complete crazy.  And thank God it’s only a four-day event.

*I keep saying this, but I owe you some back-story; I never have the energy to delve deeper into the depths of The Kid. Someday, Internet, I will help you understand. I don’t promise you will like him anymore than you already do (don’t), but you will at least understand.

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