Thursday, November 11, 2010

Closing That Door

I have now been single for almost ten months. It is time for me to stop being bitter about my breakup and start being bitter about being awesome and single. No more sad blogs about disillusion. Let's move on to ironic blogs about disillusion. No more questions about the meaning of life. More jokes about the meaninglessness of daily battles.

So. Let's begin.

Oh, my good Lord. My wit has left me. I'm sitting here with a cup of coffee in my hand, and I can't think of a damn thing to say but "yawn." Last night I had a glass of wine with dinner and a beer when I got home. I was going to go to karaoke, but the beer (unit number two) knocked me down. I watched Scott Pilgrim again, curled up in a ball on the little couch, smiling to myself because I liked it. I wish movies were cheaper to see at the theater. I wish Dahlonega HAD a movie theatre.

Sometimes, despite the fact that life is awesomer at age 30 something, I DO miss parts of my twenties. The newness of everything. The stress. The confusion. The hilarity. The camaraderie. Life now is a different kind of awesome.

Then, going to bed with a little beer buzz was a warm and happy occasion. It meant I was previously out with friends, and I was currently choosing to go to bed. Now, going to bed with a beer buzz means I had a couple of beers with my front of the television. But, hey, I made the dinner, and I listened to NPR while doing so, and I'm awesome.

Then, going out meant I was going to see a million people I knew for impromptu partying. No invitations required. They would all be there, wherever I was, and if they weren't, I would find them at a different location, but I would find them. Now, going out means making plans to make sure I'm not the only one there, and a good time is ensured by the people that agree to come out. If I go out on my own, there's a 90% chance I'm going to be sitting at the bar alone chatting with the bartender while occasionally striking up a conversation with another bar patron. Great way to meet people, though.

Then, being with friends meant drinking, dancing, social networking. Now, being with friends means making art, drinking, cooking, eating at the table and telling stories, dancing, and social networking.

Then, everyone, and I, was single, even the people that weren't single were totally single. Now, 80% of everyone is committed in one way or another, except for me, and the other 20%.

Then, I had no idea how pretty I was, how much value I possessed. I just knew people liked me. Now, I see myself, and I try to share my value, and I know people like me, and I like them.

I'll try to be more cynical next time.

1 comment:

Queen Mother said...

You are awesome, Caroline