I was under the impression I would know what I wanted at some point.

Decisions don't suit me.
That's not to say I don't make a lot of decisions quickly every day, and I'm a creature of habit... my first decision is almost always not to get out of bed as soon as I awaken. Boom. Stay in bed. Done.
After that, it gets tricky. Possibly because I always, always - maybe not in a timely fashion but I never miss a day - get out of bed.
There's no point in dwelling on this since I know the answer (knowing everything makes this a given), but in the spirit of indecision I feel compelled to put it all down on cyber paper. If you don't want to read it, don't then!
This is a little scattered in thought since I keep trying to tell myself in a panic that it's going to be bedtime and then I won't be able to eat since I'll be asleep so I probably won't eat until TOMORROW which is a whole other day and what if I starve and a ladle of Peter Pan peanut butter with honey isn't going to make me fat, peanut butter is the good fat and good for you and that's just taking care of my body, not harming it, etc. Yes, I actually thought "etc.", so hush.
Before this takes a total header off the bridge and hits the sharp rock right next to the water, I'll get to my point.
I think I'm impossible to please.
The situation that bitch-slapped me into clarity involves people. When I was married I just wanted time to myself. I dreamed about it. I longed for it. I became cranky as the years passed and I continued to not have it.
Boy oh boy do I have it now! I'm in the middle of the five day stretch without my son that I endure every other week. This time it is particularly brutal because I have not had the desire to stay with friends that I usually have. I did it the first two nights, first in Kansas City, then on the floor of my friend's living room (accidentally), waking up to discover that her kids had a field day on me overnight. After beating the little monsters with a sturdy tree trunk, I reflected that it wasn't as fun as it used to be.
Now I am at the start of night two entirely alone in this 5000 square foot house. There was a time in my life this would have been paradise to me, and don't get me wrong, it isn't bad at all. I do like it. It's just a little lonely.
Here's where my confusion waves its hand impatiently. I'm lonely. But I DON'T want people to bug me.
If somebody talks to me, and I like that person, great. If they keep on and on and on and there's no end in immediate sight after a few minutes, and they're droning, not great. However, if they then stop talking abruptly and I hear nothing from them in days, I get a little pissy. What did I do? They were the ones talking!, my indignant inner voice protests. Then the pissiness turns into a little bit of concern. Or did I do something? Maybe so! Maybe I did! That part is short-lived, thankfully, but then a general unease settles over me until the next person strikes up a conversation.
Basically I want you to talk to me. But don't do it a lot. But do it regularly. But know when to stop. But sometimes you can talk longer. But don't make a habit of it.
It's the old "I want you unless you want me, in which case good day."
Why do we do that? Don't EVEN pretend you don't, it's part of the human condition. The grass is greener on the other side of the fence. Something new and better is ahead. Whatever.
Who even knows how I managed to stay married so long with such a skewered outlook on relationships. Hell, not even relationships - CASUAL CONVERSATIONS! It's the same whether on computer or phone, texting or talking - ugh I don't want to talk, well, maybe, hey, they hung up! What the hell? Eh, I'm not calling back.
It's a wonder I've made it this far, being so socially backward. My only comfort is that I'm all about equal opportunity - whether it's somebody behind me in line at the grocery store or my mother, I go through a speedy but undoubtedly present inner dialogue each time. I didn't realize I groaned aloud every time my cell phone rang until my son mentioned it one day.
"Why are you the practice coordinator for baseball when you hate people?"
It startled me, but not enough to quit.
"I don't HATE people, it's just...it's hard...you'll understand someday. Or not."
These nuggets of parental gold frequently slip out as I fake my way through these crucial months of early puberty (and before that), and I'm sure Hunter will thank me someday for helping him through it by not really helping him at all. He might not thank me out loud, since he knows I hate talking, but if he thinks it, I'll know. Or not. More than likely, I'll be too busy freaking out about why he hasn't called to consider that possibility.
And just like that, back to square one.