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Thursday, February 9th

February 9, 2017

I feel better. I’m sleeping better. Getting out of directing another play was definitely the right thing to do.

So, back to where I thought I’d be on Tuesday morning. As I said on Monday, it didn’t really occur to me until I got to the rehearsal on Sunday, that it had been three days since I’d seen another human being.

The funny thing is it really didn’t bother me. Yes, the power failure on Saturday was a bit of a pain (as power failures generally are), but the lights came on before it got dark – and in time to make something for dinner. I spent the afternoon reading. Thanks to the lure of the computer, I haven’t done that for a while. It really was lovely.

Thanks to Charlie, I came home Sunday with coffee and fags. I had plenty of food and wine. What more did I need? (Well, more firewood would be nice.) I knew I was going nowhere until he came back to pick me up for rehearsal on Tuesday. And it really didn’t bother me.

Solitude is actually fine by me.

I find myself suddenly remembering the late 1990s winter I spent here. I’d been temporarily laid off by the underfunded environmental group for which I was working. I decided to use the time to write. Mike was teaching at UBC during the week and came over at the weekend. From Monday morning until Thursday evening I was here on my own (with the cats, Clancy and Jenny). We’d stock up on the weekend, so I’d have plenty of food. I seldom left the house, saw no one else when he wasn’t here. And it was just fine.

I wrote the first draft of Unethical Practices during those three months. And, yes, of course, that was an important difference. I wasn’t alone. I was sharing the house with multiple characters, with Tilly and Roger and Helen and Charles and the rest.

But this past week, when, rehearsals notwithstanding, I’ve been living with my own company and I really have no problem with that.

Thus the realisation that it isn’t solitude that makes you feel lonely, it’s people who make you feel lonely. I shouldn’t generalise. I should have written that sentence in first person. I’m sure there are many individuals who are driven bat shit crazy by solitude. I am apparently not one of them.

I’ve heard many women say that the loneliest they ever felt was when they were married.  I can relate to that. I can remember times when I was living with Mike that I would find myself weeping in the shower, because it was the only place in the house where I could do so without him hearing me. That’s lonely.

I’ve been thinking about when I’ve felt loneliest in the past few years. There seems to be a bit of a recurring theme.

For example:

  • Coming home to an empty house after the hugely successful opening nights of Inherit the Wind, the pantos, What Glorious Times, et cetera
  • Coming home to an empty house after the riotous wrap parties for these various shows

These aren’t the only times. Being the only unattached guest at a dinner party or other social function, going to and coming home alone from concerts and other events. It’s the absence of someone with whom I can share successes.

So, what am I saying? If I never went out, never saw other people, I’d never feel lonely?  It certainly sounds as if that’s what I’m saying. I’m not. Social interaction is important. Being in (or directing) a play is a great deal of fun – and fun is definitely a good thing.

Honestly, I don’t know what the hell I’m saying. I’m just sharing the interesting observation that I’ve been perfectly happy with the solitude of the past week. Make of that what you will. Or not.


One Comment
  1. Irmani permalink

    Like you, I love the solitude and I can’t remember a time I felt lonely when I was single. In a bad relationship, with spades. Hope you enjoy your productive time xx

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