Petty Pity Party

I’m a petty person. I like people, but I also like my personal space. I’ve made friends with people who, like me, enjoy your company only so much before they start to hope that you’ll go away so they can breathe easier, walk around the house naked, sleep across the bed diagonally, not think about cooking or doing the dishes right away. But this is not about them. This is about me. And how I am the type of person to ask a guy to drop me home when we’re done getting our groove on because I like my bed that much.

I am a petty person. I like to cook in my kitchen because I’m convinced that it’s my comfort zone and where I can create magic with the greatest ease. I like my floor rags exactly where they are right now every single day. These towels hold my feet and keep them warm and happy. My bed and I have an actual relationship because it’s one of the only places where I can be my real, vulnerable, small self. Not literally because I’m 5 feet 7, but you get the point. My bed is the only place where I feel better when I simply lie down and breathe. I like my shower because I walk in there barefoot and don’t stop to think about dirt or germs. That’s where I take long showers to ease me of bad feelings, menstrual cramps, fatigue, emotional beat-downs, the fear of having done too little with my life. I fall in love with the little studio that is my home every time I catch the sun’s rays streaming through my windows and when, like earlier this morning, I watch the rain fall steadily over the field overlooking my front door.

I am a petty person because I am particular about everything I count as my personal space. I don’t like to be touched unnecessarily, I’m still learning how to cuddle and I prefer to sleep alone. I like to sit in the dark and listen to music, I am convinced that you can either be friends or neighbours, not both, and I can only enjoy the company of people I love in doses. A few months ago, I made friends with a young man who is a lot like me: neat, organized, picky. He also likes to run, he eats well and enjoys his music, work and personal space. This guy admitted to me that people like us are bothersome to others. He has accepted that he does not know how to live with people. It then came to me that although this is different, it is also okay. Like male feminists and couples that choose not to have children or people who decide to remain unmarried. It’s different, but it’s okay.

Does that still make me petty? Yes. What it also does is make me more accepting of myself and my quirks. I made huge strides in accommodating those whose habits are completely different as mine. Even while I grind my teeth on account of the breadcrumbs begging to be swept off a floor, screaming children on a sugar high, pictures on a wall which aren’t properly aligned, dust bunnies under a friend’s bed, food served on a wet plate, a sticky table at my favourite coffee shop, that person taking up some of my seat space on a bus ride… The list goes on and on. But I am learning how to pick my battles. Sometimes I do great. At other times, I lose it and make a smart ass remark to make you aware of just how petty I am.

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