The Lone Ranger

I realized how much I like to be alone.

When you're alone, you don't have to compromise with anyone. You decide. No one tries to tell you where to go, or when to go, or that they don't want to go somewhere you do want to go. No one tries to make conversation with you. No one tries to show you things.

When you're alone, the only one you have to reason with is yourself. You don't have to persuade yourself to do something you don't want to, you don't have to face peer pressure to do or not do something.

I loved being by myself tonight. I took a random bus and ended up in Southside. I'd been in the area two years ago, and I knew an interesting shopping district, so I attempted to get there, got somewhat lost, and probably walked more than I had to. I don't regret it, because I got to walk through quaint little streets with the beautiful, colorful wooden homes that are the trademark of this city. I saw an apartment complex where every building was a different color and each apartment came with a built-in porch swing. I saw a mother and her two daughters carry on a conversation in sign language. I saw a trailer park cafe where fires burned in the open and BBQ was served in paper plates on wooden picnic tables next to a sawdust dancefloor, a green cafe with cactuses and plants aplenty, and a dry streambed entirely covered in bright yellow leaves. Had I been with any one of my friends, someone would have been complaining about the heat. Someone would be complaining about the distance. Someone would be complaining about the cars, the hobos, the dogs, the alignment of the planets. But I was by myself, and so I was able to enjoy the world around me.

When I finally got to where I wanted to be, I wandered in and out of several stores. Here being what it is, every single one of them was weirder than the last. I took my time and looked at everything--every single thing. I looked around, up, down, picked up, put down, read, flipped through, admired, mocked, dusted, stroked, and played at my leisure. I didn't buy anything. Had any of my friends been here, I know that someone would have been bored after five minutes. Someone would be asking if we could go now, someone would be complaining that she is hungry, and others would be grouchy because, as they have kindly informed me, time not spent making out with their significant other is wasted time. Thanks for the friendship, pal. Apparently I'm not worth your time.

Eventually, night fell, so did the temperature, and the wind began to blow. I embarked upon the craziest and most rebellious leg of my journey so far--I walked. Instead of taking the bus, I walked back to the river, over the bridge, and up ten more blocks before taking a bus. I had trouble walking because the wind was so strong. At one point, I would have been blown over into the river had the railing not been there. I walked through downtown, past the towering granite and marble lighted monuments that constitute the skyline, with their tens of lighted Christmas trees and glistening, impeccable floors. I walked past stylish haute-couture establishments, restaurants that would have charged me the entirety of my bank account for so much as a glass of water, and, further up, smoky nightclubs at the top of ensconced staircases squeezed between two massive buildings. Had any of my friends been there, I am certain, someone would be complaining about their feet hurting, the cold, the wind, the distance, the hill, the cars passing by, the price of gas, the time, hunger, the sniffles, homework, a movie they'd rather be watching, or how many minutes it had been since they had made out with their significant other, and how cruel I was for making them be apart so long.

I know, I sound like--for lack of a better word--a bitch. And boy, does it feel good to be the bitch for once. Someone spent the entire lunch glaring at me because she wasn't able to sit next to her girlfriend for once, even though they practially live together and haven't spent more than a couple hours apart in the past three months because they do everything together, and somehow their not sitting together was my fault. I hated every minute of it, and even though we are supposedly friends, I wanted to bash in the face of everyone at that table.

Obviously, another reason I can't really stand other people is that I have a huge ego and can't stand to be ignored or blamed for wanting to live a normal life, i.e. a life where I have the freedom to sit in any chair I choose regardless of social optimization.

Also, I don't like to talk. I recently realized that the total number of sentences I have uttered over the course of the last semester probably numbers under the thousand, if not the five hundred. I prefer to listen, because I usually don't have anything to say, and when I do, no one listens anyway.

Oh well, whatever. I enjoy my own company, I always agree with myself, and I don't have to talk or converse in any way. It's a win-win situation.

...For me, of course.