When I was single, I could stay in for weekends like a champion and be very, VERY content. Between reading, knitting, doing jigsaw puzzles, playing charades, binging Netflix, surfing Daily Mail, Instagram-stalking realty stars - so much contentment can be found in four walls. Sometimes I love a good dreary, rainy day because it gives me the perfect excuse to do 'nothing' over the weekend. Why is staying in considered nothing? Why does being content with your own company and space get discounted to, well, nothing? Now that I can 'stay in' for the entire week, which is my jam, I should be having a blast. And I am, but I also have bouts of feeling directionless. Pathetic. Of feeling non-productive. Of feeling like a blob. Just there, squishing around, no shape or definition. I will have projects that motivate me: Write a book! A sassy work of fiction! Scratch that..let's try non-fiction. Still sassy of course. Ok, how about learn French! Knit a Sweater! In bet...
Because contestants on The Bachelor are not the only ones who get to have journeys