It’s like this. I am a sociable, solitary person.
I like parties, and friends, and kids.
But when it is time, my alone time. Don’t disturb me. Recognize the signs, and go away.
In this case, it’s really not about you. It’s about me.
So don’t go crazy. Don’t give me the look. Or the attitude. Don’t talk about my mood swings behind my back.
I need time to lock myself in the bathroom, and soak for two hours in water I keep just below boiling by allowing a trickle to keep flowing in.
I need the space to zone out in front of the TV, even if all that is on are old reruns of CSI New York.
I need to be able to read the last few chapters of my book. Yes, 17 chapters is a few.
So. Give me my time. My space.
And later on, I’ll give you what you need too.
Disjoint Wisdom 