Sunday, February 27, 2011

Pity Party. Attending? One.

I've been in a funk all weekend. There was a wedding this weekend. I was kind of surprised when I was told, back in November, it was coming. Carole and David got a free trip to Las Vegas to be witnesses at the wedding. I'm sure there will be stories as well as copious amounts of photos.

I do wish the bride and groom well. I'm given to understand it's been more than a little interesting to have finally arrived at a Vegas wedding. If you've divorced and reached a point with someone of "do we or don't we", you certainly don't want to go through the divorce process again. So, I hope this wedding is what they want.

Yet, the whole idea sent me into something of a funk. I thought I'd get remarried first. I really did. I did all this emotional therapy to get to a place where I know who I am and what I want out of life. I've been reminded, on more than a few occasions, that nothing on the other side has changed significantly and I am so much better off living as a single. Plus, I am an introvert, as I've mentioned before, and I value, prize and demand alone time. It's me and two cats, which I've grown to accept, sort of.

But how I wouldn't love to share my space with another human, preferably a guy. How I would love to come home and have him cook supper, do wash, bring in the mail, shovel the snow, call the plumber. I have felt as if the last 10+ years have been an exercise in always being "on", wondering when the next problem will happen and having to face it alone. The dating service was an abject failure. I still think that, at some point, they decided that they wouldn't be able to match even half of what I'd like so they just sent all the guys who hadn't dated ever my direction, because I'd have something nice to say in addition to the "What were you smoking when you matched us?" comments.

So, at a time like this, I sit in my quiet living room and wish there was someone whose dirty socks were left on the bedroom floor. I sit feeling sorry for myself. Why me? I come to the conclusion, rightly or wrongly, that guys my age aren't looking for independent women my age. They either want someone to take care of them (shudder) or they want an air-head who will be arm-candy (double shudder). And let's not even discuss the side of my ego that is critiquing my appearance. "Gray hair? Hello? Here's $10. Go get a box of dye."

I took Friday off. It was a smart move. Mike, in the office, is expecting his first child any day now and he will be gone for 2 weeks when that happens. I had one day held over from last year and it was quiet so now is the perfect time to use that up. I went grocery shopping and have spent the weekend cleaning. I've emptied the paper recycling bin twice. I paid all my bills and it's just "me" time although a big black cat has demanded my lap. She knows I just need to know that someone, even if they have four legs and a tail, cares.

The party ends when I get up tomorrow. There is no more pitying myself for what I don't have. Time to move on. Tonight, it will be hot cocoa with a shot of Goldschlager. Tomorrow, it's Cheerios with bananas and the start of a new week.

Beverage:  hot cocoa


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