… is the title of a book I’m going to write, which I’ll finish in about a year, and as I’m crossing the street to discuss cover art with the publisher I’ll get run down by a fiery redhead on a moped, causing me light injuries and starting a relationship which will cause me to disavow everything I’ve just written about the joys of being single and having all my time to myself.

I went to see U2 last night with friends (after getting last minute tickets, I am not a giant U2 fan) and for much of the night felt conspicuously sans partner, having instead to settle for discreetly ogling the young hotties. There was one song which seemed set up to make people get all emotional and wrap their arms tightly around their loved ones, and rarely have I felt more alone (ironically that song was One… or maybe that’s not ironic— who the hell knows with irony).

Things that are great about being single (and living alone): No one messes with your stuff; no one hassles you to do anything; no one gets annoyed when you don’t come to bed; no one gets upset when you see a movie without them; no one comes home after a bad day and brings you down with them; no one expects you to reassure them about their insecurities; no one makes you feel like the worst person in the universe by pointing out you’ve said or done something insensitive; no one gets jealous if you flirt with someone else.

Things that aren’t: No one hassles you to do anything, so you don’t do anything; there’s no sleepy girl to wrap you in her loving arms — thank you Whitlams for that annoyingly appropriate lyric—; no one gets excited with you about seeing a movie; no one expects you to be there for them after a hard day, and no one is there for you; there’s no one to share your insecurities with, and no one to remind you how important you are (to them); there’s no one to hide behind when flirting turns out to be ill-advised.

Things that are just weird: Smells. I find myself getting attached to my own scent. In lieu of a significant other I seem to be chemically bonding with myself, so I can pick up my own shirt from the day before, hold it to my face and be strangely comforted by the familar smell of moi.

Dating is also weird, as in virtually impossible for me. Like other singles I sign up with the dating sites and agonize over creating a profile which will portray me as confident but not smug, sensitive but not wet, intelligent but not intimidating. Unlike other singles I find it hard to actually follow up on any contacts I make, so usually end up ditching it again after a month or two. As everyone knows, chemistry is vital, and pheromones do not travel well via email and IM, so it’s almost a guaranteed disappointment— and I just haven’t the stomach to play the numbers. Last time I went out with someone via such a service I think I fell in love with two other people we just happened to run into. My rational mind has limited say in who I yearn for, so no matter how good a match on paper it probably isn’t going to work for me.

This entry was posted on Saturday, November 25th, 2006 at 11:38 am and is filed under Romance. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.