Lessons From the Kissing Booth

I am no good with telephones.
And I don't mean this in the normal, every day, I'm no good with personal interaction sort of way, but instead in the way that means I dislike the distance that telephones create. I claim to call people just to say hello, to check up on how they're doing, but really I'm waiting for them to spontaneously tell me that they'll be over in a few minutes so that we can sit quietly in the same room together.
Let's not get me wrong; I do so love living alone. I do not miss having roommates in the roommates sense. All of this space is just for me, and that's how it should be.

It used to be that on the rare occasion that I was alone and I wanted people around, I could dial any number of friends and they would come over and be in the same space as me. I never felt guilty for doing such a thing; they were my friends and that's what they were there for. I'd do the same for anyone else. But there isn't that anymore, and I'm at a loss for what to do in the moments where I'd like to be able to stop moving about the house doing whatever I'm doing for a moment and look at someone who will smile at me. The problem with roommates is that, clichely, you can't live with them but you can't live without them, but the problem with everyone else is that they're not roommates.

And so instead I telephone, insisting on stunted, go nowhere conversation with people who would probably be much happier going about things without me on the other end. This is a completely worthless endeavor because I don't want to talk about the weather, I want to make them come sit on my couch and read a book so that I can look at them. Maybe this is why I really need a dog: so that I can get off the phone with my friends.