I am a recluse.  Not all the time, but the potential is always lying in wait, hoping for the moment when I’ll be on vacation and then it leaps forth and swallows me whole.

I don’t know why it is.  But it has been proven repeatedly for many years.

When I’m not dragged out into the light of day by my job, I slip into my home and savour the quiet and the solitude.  I stop answering emails, I barely answer the phone.  I’m short and abrupt and usually manage to keep to any pre-arranged event attendance but make new plans?  Yeah, no.

I consider it reclusion, not seclusion, because I still go out into the world, there are usually a few things that must be done, but I have difficulty enjoying it.

I have become hermit.

And I like it.  It feels so good.  Except for the guilt.  I feel that I should be out, doing, being, talking, sharing.  But to be at home, or alone in the woods, just being or reading or writing or doing.  It’s bliss.

Are you a recluse?  Or a seclusion lover?  Or is your world best when it is filled with other people?

~Abysmal Witch