Every Wednesday for the past few weeks I have been teaching a class. It starts at 7pm and is down the street from my office. This means I can’t go home in between work and class. This means I have to eat dinner alone.
There are some activities that I prefer to do alone (shopping, also known as exersizing my extreme indecision and perfectionist tendencies). There are some things I don’t mind doing alone (eating lunch: it’s a moment of zen in the middle of cubical stress). And then there are things I do alone where I’m paranoid that everyone else in the place is staring at me, wondering why I don’t have any friends. Eating dinner is one of those things.