It seems that I enjoy torturing myself sometimes. And I have a rich imagination, so I’m good at it. Since I haven’t had a date since my late boyfriend passed away, I sometimes have imaginary dates in my head.
For example, the EMP Museum here in Seattle is currently hosting a Campout Cinema Series where you bring your sleeping bag and pillow, and stretch out on the floor and watch a classic horror movie. That sounds like so much fun. I could imagine snuggling up with someone and eating popcorn and pretending to be scared.
I know what you’ll say. You should go anyway. But watching all the couples getting all romantical while seeing a movie I normally wouldn’t watch anyway does not sound like a good time to me. Sorry. It just doesn’t. A stiff upper lip only carries you so far in this life.
I do this all the time. I imagine how much more fun a restaurant, museum, walk in the park, festival, etc. would be if I were lucky enough to go with someone else rather than be standing there alone. Why on earth do I do this to myself?
A friend of mine says that I really need to learn to enjoy being alone. I need to embrace it. Yeah. Maybe.