In praise of alone time

Tomorrow I don't want to talk to anyone. I want my alone time. It's my time to recharge, refresh, and get ready for the new week.

I love my alone time. I am greedy and possessive of it.

The coworker who has been having all the marital problems is getting a divorce (but since she and her husband are still living together, I'll believe it when I see it) and wants to spend time with me. During work. After work. On the weekends.

I don't want to spend time with her. But I'm stymied when she asks what I'm doing instead. It sounds so anti-social to say, "I'm not doing anything. I just want my alone time."

I want to read. I want to watch TV (especially Crosstown Classic: Game 3). I want to nap on the sofa (which always feels a little decadent to me). Maybe I want to sort my books and clothes. I want to be on my own.

I love my alone time. I need my alone time. It clears my head and keeps me strong.

Crosstown Classic: Game Two

Look at that form. A thing of beauty is a joy forever, isn't it? Especially when D. Lee comes in to pinch hit … with the bases loaded … and slams it out of the park.

Gloating would be crass and cruel and, well, so South Side. So instead, I shall just sing:

"Hey, hey, holy mackerel, no doubt about it, the Cubs are on their way
The Cubs are gonna hit today, they're pitch today, they're gonna field today
Come what may, the the Cubs are gonna WIN today!


Hey, hey, holy mackerel, no doubt about it, the Cubs are on their way
They've got the hustle, they've got the muscle
The Chicago Cubs are on their way!"