The Weekend

Most weekends I don't do anything. I don't go anywhere, nor do I speak to anyone. My introvert is on overdrive and I literally only speak to my animals.

I went on a date last night. We talked and laughed and joked. Previous to this he would talk to me all the time; now, I hear nothing from him. Not a good morning, not a I hate you; nothing. No words.

And now, I am sitting at a restaurant with my boss, working, on a Sunday. My bubble, my shell is collapsing around me.

I vacillate between the desire to be home and not to speak to anyone and wanting desperately for someone to acknowledge my existence (even if it's by verbal communication). I am a paradox of contraditions.