After breaking up with Jonas, I made the apartment my cocoon.
At first it was mostly drowning myself in home-baked cookies from all my Pinterest recipes, all while listening to Bobby croon about seasick sailors and baby blues on my record player. I didn’t realize I hadn’t left the apartment in over a week until I finally found the charger for my phone and received an avalanche of backed-up texts and emails and social media pings. I turned the phone off and threw the charger out the window.
What was the outside world, anyway? What was social media? What was world news? Just a bunch of time-wasting gossip. I was enjoying myself without it. I was better for it. Sure, I ate a few too many cookies, but I also did hours a day of yoga. Organized and cleaned to a spotless abode. Rearranged furniture, decorations. Read more books than I’d read in the past year. Three years.
That was when I decided my apartment would be my Walden Pond. An exercise in self-reliance and self-improvement. I could get my groceries delivered, read enough classical ebooks from the public domain to keep me learning for the rest of my life, and maybe learn some languages for fun.
Why not? I had been scrimping and saving for a house with Jonas for years. I had over a hundred grand in savings, and by now I was good at budgeting. I could stay here for years. Growing, improving, learning. Getting stronger, more centered. All without the social pressures of humanity to distract me. I would be the apartment monk, devoted to a solitary life of enlightenment.
But not forever. My apartment was my cocoon. And one day, I would emerge a new being.
Today’s three random writing prompt categories were, “A cocoon,” “Cookies,” and, “Bob Dylan.”
A pretty extreme post-breakup self-improvement declaration. I like it.