Some pig missed me with his spit by six inches. I was angry, but it also felt fitting.
I was comfortable being single for the last two years, but now I am officially sick of it.
Remember back in early September when I said I was getting back on the horse? Well it took two months for that horse to show up for a date, and it’s been impossible to get a second, even though he insists he wants to get together. I sent a series of questions, trying to figure out what might be in the way, but it’s always the same answer: work. While I constantly have work to do, I also decide to get up from it occasionally. I am at a loss… and exhausted from preparing for dates that don’t happen.
And I’m freaking lonely. I am someone with a lot to give and even more to feel. It’s all wasted pining for some ambiguous future relationship.
I am not interested in the 50-year olds and 22-year olds that hound me on OkCupid. Beyond that, I’m super picky. It’s not as though my “inbox” is empty; there are plenty of options that don’t interest me.
I have my first real wrinkle. Unlike Henry Rollins who had smile lines, I have a 2.5″ worry line over my right eye. It’s a doozy. My hands look ancient, but fortunately my face generally passes for younger.
Telescoping time applies to age as well, but conversely. The years 1996-1998 seem to have lasted so much longer than 2008-2010, or even 2005-2010.
I don’t know what else to say now. I guess I’m moody. I feel as though the folks on the subway are staring at my worry lines and the expression that produces them…