Although my current life is being served a la carte, there were times in my not so distant past that I came with a tasty side dish. From these relationships past I have taken away far more than bitterness and sexy memories. In many ways being single is like staring at a Turner oil painting from a distance. I can mostly see everything, although some parts of the picture will only ever be clear once someone points them out to me. In the throngs of coupledom however, it was if I were standing so close to the painting my breath added to the stormy churning of the English channel to the point where I couldn’t see shit. Now, materializing from the fog is an aspect of being in a relationship that I never once appreciated while I could. I can only see it now that I’m standing back by the bored security guard.
I take things on the chin (once quite literally, let’s not talk about that). My back is not very slippery however and I often wear the unfavourable incidents, criticism and road rage home with me to my bed instead of letting them slide away. With so much negativity swimming around with me in my sheets, it’s often hard to sleep. I miss taking off my clothes to jump into bed with anyone not my pillow, but I never realized until now how much I miss leaving the shitty aspects of my day on the floor with my argyle socks. Not having someone to unwind with, being unable to clear my chest and bitch my heart out is a burden on par with listening to the guilt from my mom about how at my age she was popping me out.
Perhaps I have added just another reason to bemoan solitude. Perhaps I’ve found the motivation to start a screamo band. Or, perhaps I’m a whinny baby. Either way, the fog has lifted and I see a mighty fine English vessel and it’s being steered by a woman who loves to hear about how work sucked today.