Funny things happen when you spend a lot of time alone. Your brain goes places long ago left behind. You start thinking about every little thing.

I find it odd, specifically because I have always spent a lot of time alone and I have also always enjoyed the crap out of that fact. Maybe it’s because I get so much of people in my work? By the time I get home from all of the managing, talking, maneuvering, game-of-thrones-playing and otherwise interacting with my team, my clients and my colleagues I am fairly well talked out. I make a nightly call to my mom on my way home from work so that once I finally walk in the door, I don’t need to talk to another single human until the next day. It’s kind of glorious.

Even though I’ve been home for over a week dealing with this vertigo mess, I’ve had more visitors than I usually have and a lot more social visits – even though most of them occurred in my bedroom with visitors gazing down upon me lying flat on my back, I still got to see people. It was nice. But now that I’m facing down another Monday and likely a week where I will be working from home, it’s starting to motivate strange thoughts in my brain. Like…why am I so happy alone?

Am I trying to protect myself? I mean, it’s possible. I’ve not chosen very wisely in my long years of relationships with men. Probably because most of them weren’t men so much as boys. My husband and I were as opposite as opposites get. He was fun-loving and happy, the life of every party – I was intense and responsible. Once he was gone, I took it on myself to make up for his absence by being as “fun” as I could be (you can interpret that as you will, but I think you know what I mean). I had a particular weakness for bartenders, ideally under 25.

I had a few bigger relationships, sure I did. None of them were what I would now call very real. I was looking to fill a void, change my own perception of myself, or even just experimenting to learn more about myself. Filling time! Having mindless fun.

The last big fling was such an unmitigated disaster (I was around 43? I think? It’s hard to remember) that I haven’t gone back to the plate since. I have no idea why I’m using sports metaphors. I literally hate sports. I also literally hate being in relationships, based on my reflections of late.

A friend of mine posted on Facebook tonight about how long she’d been single and how it might be time to head out there again. This is a really good friend, which might seem odd because we’ve never actually met in person but to say that she has become one of my best friends in such a short time would not be an understatement. She is my MS guru. My sounding board. She makes me laugh. She understands when I cry. That post of hers today made me think how long it’s been since I’ve been in anything even resembling a relationship and it’s a damn long time.

Like 8 years???

The funny thing is, even now that I have been diagnosed with a life-long chronic illness that makes living alone a challenge at times, I sincerely believe that the only thing that could make this whole experience worse would be to have to go through it in front of another human.

When I’m so low that I can only crawl up the stairs; When I’m so sad I just lay on the couch and sob while four animals lick my face trying to get my tears before they dry up; When I’m so tired I can only roll over and cling to my body pillow and close my eyes for a few more hours; there is nobody to pressure me. Nobody to urge me to try harder. Nobody who cares if my bedhead is so bad that it’s officially become performance art.

When I need help, I’ve found ways to get it. Friends and family get the nod for being awesome just because they love me and believe me when I tell you, I’ve needed them. When things happen that aren’t practical to bother friends and family for, I do what every single woman of a certain age must do. I HIRE SOMEONE! If it can be delivered, I order it. If it can be hired out, I do it. My current staff includes the following:

• Cleaning lady
• Yard guy
• Window and gutter cleaning lady
• Tree trimmer guy
• Bug spraying guy
• The usuals like plumbers, electricians and other handy people
• Grocery stores where I can order online that put my groceries in my car for me
• The people who make me feel better on the outside (hair girl, nail girl, massage guy – I have the general maintenance covered).
• Various Postmates drivers (who may actually count as long-term relationships now that I think about it).

None of this is cheap, of course, but it makes life so much easier especially when your body seems intent on making life as hard as it can possibly be. Then there are my people at work who I can rely on for just about anything be it food for lunch, delivery of medicine, meetings in my living room while I can’t stand up so good, general comradery – it’s almost more productive than actually being in the office.

But I’ve been in this house for more than a week now and my mind wanders to strange places where I find myself wondering…why is it that I’m so happy alone?

I prefer my singular strangeness, quirks, bizarre habits and rituals when they are mine alone. Having so many people in and out all week has proven this to me. It makes me squirmy to explain to people all of the strange things/routines/rituals I have in my house day-to-day. Why everything looks super spiffy on the outside but the drawers are a disorganized mess. Why I put the cat bowls where I put them (in the same positions every single day). How I thoroughly scoop the litter boxes as if I’m being judged by a highly critical board of experts. How I make my bed the way I make it – and make it again before I get into it, if for some off chance I was too tired to do it that morning. How I fluff the pillows on my couch before I go to bed each night. How I only read in bed and how I’ve seen every episode of Law & Order SVU at least 500 times and can likely recite each one of them for you.

These things don’t make me sad. They make me intensely happy. I feel the most me that I ever feel when I am home alone. Sometimes I think it’s because of what I’ve done the minute I’ve gotten into any kind of relationship throughout my entire life. That would be immediately start trying to change myself into who some guy thought I should be. Or more accurately what I thought some guy wanted me to be. It has never not happened. Wait. That’s a lie. It has happened at least once. Maybe twice. But each time there were other reasons so concrete why that dalliance could never go anywhere at all, it was never really that much of threat to my singularity. I knew I’d be back before long. And I’d have the same overwhelmingly familiar feeling when it was over.

Relief.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Oh Beth, stop, you just haven’t met the right person yet! You’re putting up walls to keep others out! You aren’t really happy you just THINK you are and that’s so sad!” But those of you that know me well will definitely understand. You get how being myself, and only myself, is so important to me, so hard-won a battle, that I’ve just not met the man yet who would be worth the risk of even losing a tiny bit of me in the making of a couple.

I’m not sure that man exists and to be frank, I’m almost glad of it. What the heck would I be doing with him now? Making him carry litter up the stairs? Take out my trash? Fix things that are broken? Make me happy when I feel sad?

Nobody can make me happy when I feel sad. Only I can do that. I learned that a long time ago. I found peace when I stopped looking outside of myself for that thing that would make me whole. I found peace in my solitude.

I guess that’s a good thing, too. In my convalescence, I have a new member of my staff this week who I’ve already fallen in love with. She’s my new cat helper, Kathy. I found her through another angel of a friend who knows what it’s like to be a crazy cat lady with four cats and temporarily incapacitated.

My new cat sitter comes twice a day to feed and scoop. In the mornings, it’s the most amazing thing! She gets here amazingly early (before the kitties have started their morning ritual of pouncing on my sleeping form to wake me for feeding time). I sleep right through it! I’ve gotten the best sleep of my life these past few days. While I am still dizzy as hell, I am starting to feel a little better. I can see better. I can read! I can sit upright for a few hours and not feel like I’m going to perish. It can’t be long before I can leave the house, right? Things are looking up!

Tonight, when she came by for dinner hour, I was gushing all over her about how grateful I am for her help. It eases my mind more than you can imagine to know that I don’t have to bend over, use steps and generally take my life in my hands in order to keep up with my rather um, extreme, kitty care standards, I told her. She is a wonderful human. She scoops like it was an Olympic sport! After I got done gushing, she said how happy she was that she hadn’t woken me up this morning when she got in to do the morning shift.

“I was trying to be super quiet,” she said. “I know how much you need your rest and I would have hated to wake you. I had some trouble with my key this morning and I was worried that it would disturb you but then I got the door open and headed up the stairs and I could hear you snoring, so I knew you were fast asleep! I was so relieved!”

…I COULD HEAR YOU SNORING?!?!?!?

So there you have it. I snore. I had no idea. I thought maybe I snored occasionally, and when I did it would be tiny little snorts sort of like an adorable baby piglet would make and they certainly wouldn’t be heard all the way from the steps. OH. MY. GOD.

I’ve added to the list of reasons why I’m happy to wallow in my solitude. My joyful, peaceful, calming solitude. My personal quiet sanctuary where I can be fully myself and nobody else. Maybe when I stumble across the man who can embrace all of that (AND the fact that I snore) I’ll be willing to open the door a little. Or maybe not. I mean, unless he happens to stumble into my living room, it’s highly unlikely that Mr. Right for Beth is going to make an appearance any time soon.

Unless he’s the UPS guy. Who also loves cats. And chicks who snore.