“Being alone. There’s a certain dignity to it.” –Bridget Fonda as Janet in Cameron Crowe’s “Singles”

It’s been a weird few weeks on top of nearly three not-great years. I’m adapting to the single life, but it’s still bizarro to me at times.  Not in the “Whatever will I do without a ma-yun?” way, but in the small ways my life has changed. First of all, I’m so much better for the environment on my own. There’s a lot less laundry to do. I don’t run off the dishwasher nearly as much during the week, because single people eat over the sink in the dark, which also saves on the electric bill. Staying home alone saves on gas. It’s really too bad you can’t get a tax credit for a breakup.

But seriously, folks. Once the Great Purge of Crap was done (I cleaned every square inch of the house, right down to the refrigerator crisper drawers, ecccch), I had a good week of feeling like I was hot shit. I didn’t miss him. I felt fine, actually, which surprised me. I mean, I was still focusing most of my emotional energy on getting my sons on track (see previous blog for why). I wasn’t angry or sad, I wasn’t feeling rejected or anything.

Then I realized, I wasn’t feeling anything. It was as if a small force field had quietly built itself around me, and nothing could get through. I felt no extremes on either end of the emotional spectrum. I didn’t want to watch anything too funny or too sad. It seemed right to be emotionally neutral. My sons were with their father, so I had several days of total solitude. It was something I would have given a non-essential internal organ for back in the Enpartnered Days, but it was starting to get old. I forced myself to go out, to keep myself occupied. I also wanted to find out if I would see any males I might consider attractive. I wasn’t looking to pick up on the first cutie I saw, that wasn’t the mission. Not too long ago, when I wasn’t allowed to look upon the cute, I’d see hot guys everywhere. The kind of hot where you think, If I wasn’t in this monogamous relationship, I would be on that like white on rice. Apparently they’ve all gotten the word that I’m now available, because they’ve vanished entirely. My friend Piney says there are no more cute guys left, and she should know because she’s been single longer than I have. They must have all gotten hitched or moved to San Francisco or something.

I realize I’m still in the “healing” stage, the “focus on being me” thing, but it was a little test. Granted, perhaps the creme de la creme isn’t walking around at 1pm because they’re WORKING, but I dipped my toe in the water as far as being around other people were concerned and I didn’t much care for it. I think I probably wasn’t in the right headspace; when I saw a couple kissing in Powell’s, it was all I could do to not snap, “Stop it!” at them. That’s not a normal human response.

So, yeah, not ready for the guy thing. For now. I have no plans to join an online dating site, gross. No thanks. I made the mistake of checking out some personals online, and let’s just say that it is indeed possible for your eyes to vomit. I don’t want to sit home all the time because my mom will get even more worried about me. Portland has a lot of cool things to offer, so I’m sure I’ll do stuff that maybe I didn’t get to do Before. I just need to figure out what those things are. You have to remember, the last time I was boyfriendless, Nirvana was a cool new band . I have no idea what people even do now. Are there still dates, or do people just wave their privates at each other on Skype and consider that enough to sustain them? Nothing about that is appealing to me. I think I’ll stay webcam free, thanks. As they say, it’s better to be alone for the right reasons than engage in online naughtiness for the wrong ones.

Still, the small reminders of being on your own pop up when you least expect them. A large sock accidentally left at the bottom of the hamper shows up in your laundry. An old love note, hidden in the deepest recesses of the underwear drawer, knocks the wind out of you. You find you can’t watch the same TV shows because it just doesn’t feel right. One of your kids mentions his name so casually, it’s like he’s still here for the briefest of moments. And then you remember: Oh yeah, that.

This is my birthday week. People are taking me out to celebrate, which makes me so very grateful once again for my fantastic support network of friends. I therefore declare this the Beginning of the New Not Sucking Time (not that catchy, but you feel me). I say so. I’ll figure this all out and it will be awesome.

I hope.

{ 4 comments }