If you are or have ever been single for any significant length of time during your adult life, you are most likely aware of that particular point that is often reached in the time of your singledom when you are acutely, often painfully aware of how you are single and many others around you are not. And, as if that weren’t enough, it seems as though the Universe often conspires against you to make you aware of your singledom at the most inopportune moments.
Yep, you guessed it. I’ve hit that point.
And yep, the Universe is being one big huge cantankerous bitch about it.
For example, I attended a munch on Friday. I was the. ONLY. Single. Person. There. The munch was well populated, but everyone, I repeat EVERYONE, was snuggled up with somebody else—mono couples and poly groups alike. Normally, that doesn’t bother me at all. Friday night, though, it made me ridiculously miserable and fostered in me a keen desire to just go the fuck home.
For another example, I was driving myself to the anniversary party of two friends last night (bad enough, right?) when what song comes on the radio but one of my most-listened-to breakup songs, one that drags exceedingly painful memories and emotions up out of the murky depths of my mind. (Chalk that up as one more reason why I desperately wish I had an iPod port in my truck’s stereo.) Luckily not only were there other single people at that party, but I also got to wield my favorite thuddy suede flogger on not one but two gorgeous bottoms—one of whom was a very heavy bottom who wore my poor arm out before she herself was worn out—so that was much needed Top therapy.
The funny thing is, I know in my rational brain that I don’t want a relationship right now. I’m enjoying not being tied down even loosely. But at the same time, it would appear that I am lonely. I am missing certain things that I had in past relationships, like reallyreally good sex, inside jokes, sizzling texts, and plain and simple connection. The kind of connection that goes to a different level than even the best friendship goes.
Or maybe I’m just so ridiculously sex deprived that it’s morphing into a pseudo-craving for the trappings of a relationship.
This is getting scientific, folks.