Ok so the title to this post may make it sound like I’m breaking up with my social life, but honestly it’s nothing that dramatic. I mean, we were barely even dating anyway and by that, I mean I only leave the house for social engagements (lol at how wanky that sounds) once or twice a month. In fact, there’s every possibility that even that’s an overstatement.
Now, it’s not that I don’t have any friends, I do. Very lovely ones in fact. Very lovely ones that I really, truly should be making more of an effort to see. The problem is that the younger me; the one who wouldn’t miss out on a trip to the co-op, let alone the pub, is no more. In fact, I wouldn’t know her if she hit me in the face.
The me I know now is very different.
Not only have I gone from not owning a single pair of flat shoes, to literally watching my heels gather dust (note to self: hoover shoes). But, the only FOMO I experience now, is the fear missing out on a(nother) night of Netflix, slippers, and buckets of tea. And when I say FOMO, I actually mean deep feelings of sofa separation anxiety.
Just when did I become so dull?
I’m fairly certain that being tired approximately 66.33% of the time (i.e. all my waking hours) doesn’t help. By the time the evening comes, I’m more than ready for a hot bath (the kind that scalds), pjs and my dressing gown. And I would say that Chris and I spend our evenings unwinding by chatting about our day and inner most feelings, but we don’t. I actively avoid conversation, by cleverly averting eye contact while scrolling through Instagram.
Heaven forbid I actually interact with another human being face to face.
I like staying home because it’s comfortable. I don’t have to get dressed up. I don’t have to stay up past 9pm and there’s a steady supply of tea, chocolate and blankets. What more could I ask for? If you ask me, it all makes going out sound overrated.
And maybe it is.
But then if I imagine a life of never seeing my friends again and night after night of the same routine, I start to feel a bit sad.
Right now, I’m experiencing a bit of a preoccupation with time. Specifically with how fast it’s slipping away. I feel like I wake up on Monday and by the time I fall asleep, it’s Friday, before blinking and the weekend is over. It’s as though I’m trapped in a VCR and someone pressed fast forward – the days just blur into two squiggly lines.
Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. And then, I realise I’ve not seen the people I bloody love hanging out with once in that time. I mean no one’s THAT busy, are they? There’s always at least one evening a week where I could make the effort to separate myself from my dressing gown for just a few hours. Even if the thought of leaving that scabby rag of fabric behind brings me out in a cold sweat.
The funny thing is that so many of us laugh about how much we’ve learned with age and how naive and stupid our younger selves were. I mean don’t get me wrong, the red hair, wannabe rapper boyfriend and perspex wedges were always a bad idea, but maybe the constant socialising wasn’t.
As life speeds through months, into years and decades, I should make more space in that time for laughter and friendship.
After all, it wont be the dressing gown that I’ll be missing when I’m dead and gone.