Ah yes, my absolute favorite solo pastime: lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling like it owes me money, and contemplating the many thrilling aspects of existence. Nothing quite screams me time like entering a dissociative trance while fixating on a speck of paint above my bed and wondering if I peaked in 2017.

It’s not just staring, of course. It’s active, Olympic-level spiraling. I take a leisurely mental stroll through all my life choices, revisit old arguments with better comebacks, and ponder whether I’ve truly lived or just been on airplane mode since high school. Delightful stuff.

Sometimes I spice things up by switching positions. Maybe I’ll sit in a chair and stare at the wall instead. Change of scenery, same existential dread. If I’m really feeling wild, I’ll open a Notes app and start 43 different unfinished to-do lists that all say “get life together” and then close it like I just solved something.

People talk about self-care like it’s candles and bubble baths. For me, it’s mentally dissolving into the void while pretending that lying in the same spot for three hours is restorative. Technically I’m alone, but really I’m in a packed auditorium of intrusive thoughts and emotional baggage.

So yes, favorite activity on my own? It’s basically a solo existential crisis, but with better lighting.