(um, yeah. you didn’t have to answer that in the affirmative quite so quickly!)
I am almost 39 years old . . . and I am single. I am supposed to want a man, marriage, until death do we part, and so on . . .
so why is it that I truly couldn’t care less (or is it “could” care less?!) about all of that?
Yes, relationships are scary . . . and yes, although I know so many of you don’t believe me about this, and would rather blame it on Joe Raimo (!!!!!!!), I really do believe that it’s true that you don’t miss what you barely remember.
And it’s true that I am inherently selfish, probably too selfish to be in a relationship . . .
(and YES, I know that what I’m about to say is completely contradictory to that last statement . . . but I tell myself that this is “different”)
but the truth of the matter is, I’m fine the way I am . . . I don’t think I need a man in my life.
a child, however? that’s a whole different story.
yes, there is an ache in my heart, a hole in my life, but I never feel like I “need’ a man . . .
however, I absolutely DO know what Rachel meant when she demanded, “give me children, lest I die!”
and yet, people are forever reminding me that I can barely take care of myself . . . and even I tell myself, “well, I just have to get myself together, and maybe THEN I can adopt . . . ”
but I’m afraid that, not having “gotten myself together” in the first 38 years of my life, it is probably unlikely that I ever will . . .
and so I pour my love out on other people’s children, and wonder if my day will ever come . . . and I continue to try to justify to other people why the idea of “having a man” is the furthest thing from my mind.
I’m sure they think I’m just “weird”. and perhaps I am . . .