alone, not alone

I now share my home with two of my longest-standing friends. Growing up an only child, I am more accustomed to having several hours of solitude every day. Sometimes an overabundance of peace and quiet will keep me stationed there, unwilling to get out. At work yesterday, I had an edit suite all to myself, where I surfed the internet and re-digitized footage of my friend's wedding and reception. One of these days I'm going to put it all together into a DVD that I've already planned out in my head. In true Monday fashion, I instead opted for crossword puzzles and composing my latest idea for a mixtape.

When I returned home after work, I refused to let myself sit down and instead went for a jog around the neighborhood. In the year I've lived in my current house, my route has been fairly consistent, but recently I've been exploring other parts of adjacent neighborhoods. Oak Park and Pleasant Ridge provide for excellent architecture-gawking. I can't decide whether I like the charming modesty of the former or the conventional affluence of the latter. I could see myself living in either some day. For the time, I am quite content in Ferndale's somewhere-in-middle, but-we're-more-of-a-party-town feel.

My roommates were cooking dinner when I got back. Even if our tiny kitchen wasn't completely overtaken by preparations for a lasagna, I had nothing to make for myself. I set out with an empty stomach and a taste for something reasonably healthy. For the third or fourth day in a row I walked to Western Market, which is like five minutes from my house, and browsed the prepared foods section. Maybe it was the yellow hue of the curried tofu salad that caught my eye, or the memory of my neighbor bringing it to the fundraiser potluck I hosted last October. Three quarters of a pound and a cup of pre-cut fruit later and I was ready to label myself as an obvious bachelor and a less-obvious adult. The yellow sauce that covered it had more of a mayonnaise taste than I remembered, but it was easier to stomach than the Tiger's hitless performance that I watched as I ate.

After the game, I walked to The Emory where I was meeting some friends I hadn't seen in months. Time flew as we rambled on about various happenings in our lives. Highlights of the conversation included stories of physical injuries and a midget Jehovah's Witness being locked in a closet for eight hours after an autistic child mistook him for a troll. We made plans to get together with my roommates for dinner at Kuhnhenn in Warren sometime in the near future, another brewery whose growler I need to add to my collection. I told them about this blog, so I'm only a little self-conscious that I'm writing about someone who I expect will be reading this. Allow me to clear the awkward air by firmly asserting that I regret not making an effort to see them both sooner. I was completely surprised when I discovered that it was almost 1:00 AM before I got home.