A poor lonesome house mate

I used to think that I was a loner, since almost everything I like doing (reading, writing, showering, drawing, knitting, ...) is doable alone and I'm never at ease in company. Never.

Until for the first time in a long while I found myself alone at home with no plans and/or intentions. I f*****g hate it. I need people to talk to, to enjoy my food, my wine, my movies, my books, breakfast and newspaper.

Edit: Just realised one thing that is good about having the house to myself: singing along tacky (and not so tacky) music. Very very loudly.