THE JOYS OF SOLITUDE

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Most of my acquaintances can’t understand my passion for solitude. If they only knew all the events in my life, I feel sure they would agree with my quest to live alone.

Because of neighbourhood children throwing rocks at me and calling me names, I often played alone. Nobody was around to hurt me and I could do whatever I liked. I often enjoyed being by myself during recess at school as well. I could let my imagination run wild without anybody saying, “That’s stupid.”

The first time I lived alone as a bachelor proved to be a drag. The nosy landlady kept barging into my room to tidy up or to find out what I was up to. I once caught her standing outside of my door. She had no legitimate business for being there, therefore I realized she was just spying on me. I once saw her staring through my window as well. Moving from that room was a pleasure and my new room proved to be much nicer.

Though I had to use the laundry sinks to wash up in and I had to share the fridge with my next door neighbour, I loved my new place. Nobody barged in at unexpected moments. The landlord respected my privacy as well. In fact, we became good friends. Paying my monthly rent was like visiting somebody I admired rather than just paying the landlord.

Sharing a room never worked out for me either. At the three boarding houses I lived at, I could never come and go without being seen by others. My Christian faith was mocked at one house by my room mate. He even put pornographic pictures in my New Testament and radio’s battery compartment just to annoy me. During my stay at another home, the landlady’s son scorned my opinions and threatened to beat me up.

What finally broke the metaphorical camel’s back was when my sister Diane and her friend moved into my tiny room. I had to  sleep in another room which the landlord kept for visits by his relatives. I felt even more upset when a third girl invited herself to stay in my room.

When I was allowed in my room during the day, my money kept disappearing from its hiding place. One of the girls claimed it was “community property” and they had shared some food with me so I owed them. I never signed on for that.

Never again did I share a room, apartment, suite, or house with anybody. Though Mom begged me to get a room mate so the cost of renting would be cut in half, I never again fell for that nonsense. Family members and friends have stayed at my places of residence for up to two weeks but I never again had any sort of room mate.

I mentioned my trials and tribulations while finding a private place to live at in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Read more about this wonderful testimony of God’s providential grace at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

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Author: bruce Atchison - author

I'm a legally-blind freelance writer as well as the author of three memoirs and scores of articles. Contact me for details.

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