Once a routine hits, it's hard to break out. Kind of like prison. And right now I'm well into a self-imposed prison sentence/rut.
In Tennessee, I had a social life. I was in art groups (and a roller derby team) with meetings and events to attend. I was out as much as my wallet and sleep needs could tolerate.
That successful social life didn't just happen. It took months to bust out of the cycle of going home after work and doing nothing much, and it was broken largely because my gal pal Stacy dragged me out regularly until socializing became the habit.
And then I moved back home to Massachusetts.
I returned to my homeland with no job and no prospects. The temporary stay at my Mom's is now approaching its two-year anniversary, and I still don't have an employment situation that will cover rent.
I've been stuck back on square one too long, and feel like a failure on all the major battle fronts -- career, social, residential. I'm embarrassed about my life most days, except for the days when depression manages to crowd it out and fill the space with nothingness.
Because I'm broke, embarrassed, and proud, I avoid social settings. I can slip in and out of the gym anonymously, where only one other member ever says hello to me, and that's OK, because I don't want to have to play the getting to know you game with anyone yet. Maybe after I get some things settled, but not now. Not yet.
The perfect anti-social life is nearly complete. I go to my part-time, it's all I can get right now job and then go home. My paycheck disappears on dogfood and gas. Even though there have been a few social events to attend, there is always a reason to bail, usually financial, nearly always psychological.
And it's getting old.