I have found my own kind of drug. I’m addicted to canceling plans.
Nothing can beat that secret joy and relief of not attending things abruptly. Nothing ever feels better than permission to temporary laziness and idleness. In an alternative life, I will remain starring at the bathroom ceiling, soaking my favorite books in the bathtub. It didn’t happen again since I was 12.
Jodie Foster’s favorite birthday was the year she escaped the town so she doesn’t have to attend her own birthday party. She spent time hiking along with her dog. I understand that so well. I tried to make accuse so I don’t have to participate in any big days. I like small quiet days plus meaningful conversation. My kind of self-therapy is being alone and let my corporal body heal itself and brain untidy its neurons.
I have a deep fear of attending the wedding. I’m a big fan of small days. I hate big days. I hate every kind of ceremony. The crowd makes me dizzy and exhausted. I cannot retrieve all the information. I cannot stand the noise and useless interaction. I don’t care about micro-interaction.
If we’re good friends, you can disappear from my life for two years and then you can still come back. This is what I want. I don’t like keeping updates of all minor details that will evaporate in two days later. I’m a bad friend who won’t give you time. Confession of the jerk who won’t answer your phone, who won’t give you time.
I ramble like a teenager.