Me - Becoming A Recluse - Just Call Me Miss Frigid

“A recluse is someone in isolation who hides away from the attention of the public, a person who lives in solitude, i.e. seclusion from intercourse with the world. The word is from the Latin recludere, which means "shut up" or "sequester".
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recluse”

Lately my children have been lambasting me that I am becoming a recluse. My reply to them is “who rattled your cages bruvas.” Yes, I work almost a 28 hour day 10 days a week and I’m loving it. Yes I have come to love my own company, just like chocolate is to women suffering from PMT, my own company is like, well chocolate to women suffering from PMT. Also, trying to build a business is lonely work anyway, so I do have a plausible reason for being in this place.

I like the above description given for being a recluse “seclusion from intercourse with the world.” Hmmm!!!! Interesting. I now feel the urge to add that I am secluded from intercourse with anything or anyone at this moment in time. I guess I should also add “Frigid” to my list of attributes. Well there’s no point in this gal lying, but you know what? I may be a recluse, and I may be frigid, but I’m still alive and kicking and can still muster a smile without feeling I have been left on the self. I am not yet at the stage where I have to resort to hanging around Soho draped over Mista Leroy PIMP in skin tight hot-pants, a belly top and lipstick smeared all over my teeth whilst enticing punters for “a bob or shilling and two pence for a quick grope, Suh.” So things are not that bad yet.

Admittedly, I have never been a big social gal. The few times I’ve been to galas, award ceremonies or anyplace where there is a gathering of more than 4 people, I tended to get withdrawal symptoms. Finding that corner, my safe spot, my hide-out was a must. And if all the corners were taken with couples smooching and carrying on as if they hadn’t seen each other since last minute, all tight into each other and inhaling each other’s quota of oxygen, then I’d leave the event before I got all rabid on them – you know mad dog and all that.

The other alternative was if I couldn’t find a corner, where I could comfortably stand, watch and give the occasional nod of acknowledgement, then I’d be hyperventilating with sweat trying to kill my honourable intentions of looking composed. So in effect, this would indicate, time for me to depart, gracefully without resorting to the mad dog type of behaviour.

So, yes, I had to agree with my two sons that yes I was becoming a recluse. I no longer have time for idle chit chat with the human race. Things like breast feeding, housework, what he-said-she-said, Big Bruva (excuse me whilst I puke) – I don’t touch. I don’t do reality tv very well. It just sends my brain into a comatosed state and often leaves me thinking “what a waste of electricity and brain power.” I do watch documentaries and the news often – so I guess you can see why I have become a recluse. The news is a great forum to aid in becoming a psychotic manic depressive, but the plus side is that on the odd occasion that I meet someone, who seems intelligently capable of holding an interesting conversation for more than 2 minutes, I can draw reference to the news.

On that note, though peeps, my work beckons to me so I must now elope off with my computer and remain reclusively busy.