The way to go.

I enjoy being single.

I enjoyed being married, in the beginning. I like being single more than I liked being married.

Being alone has never really bothered me, whereas being with someone else does (did) bother me. Someone to answer to, someone to decide things with, always another opinion, another argument, another agenda. Oh sure, it is a give and take kind of thing, but sometimes it is a tiring way to live. I don't miss that. I miss other things but they have become fewer and fewer over time. In fact it is hard some days to even REMEMBER what I miss.

Some people need, well, people. I happen to not be one of them. I like me much more than I like most people. I have friends here in town, friends to go to lunch with, friends to gossip with, friends to do book clubs with (even though I TOTALLY DESPISE book clubs and generally have taken to learning how to doze with my eyes open) friends to throw parties with, work at the food bank together. All the things one needs friends for, I have that. I just choose not to partake much.

It just doesn't thrill me like it seems to thrill most people. I have lots to do in my life and I prefer to just get on with it. If left to my own devices, I am busy and happy. But mostly happy. Maybe I was raised by wolves (if you knew my parents you would know that it is not beyond the realm of possibilities). Whatever the case is, people don't add to my day to day existence.

When I was in counseling I brought this up, was it a bad thing? a good thing? just a thing? The counselor seemed unperplexed by this fact. Can I be social? yes. Can I get along within the confines of society? yes. Do I always want to? absolutely not. We moved on to harder therapy questions.

Still within my town, it is the question I am regularly asked " Are you dating?" "Have you found a man?" " Are you looking to get married again? live with someone? have a long term relationship?" It is almost like being alone and happy is wrong. Quick, find someone, anyone. Get on with it, you are not getting any younger you know. Get back in the relationship cycle, show everyone that you are fine, that you have moved on and up, that you have bounced back.

I don't really care for it. Having another relationship doesn't say "Hey, look it wasn't me that made my marriage not work." Just like not having a relationship doesn't say "Hey, look it was me that made my marriage not work. I can't find anyone that is how bad I am."

I date, I enjoy it well enough. I'm funny, witty, intelligent, can hold up my end of a conversation. Sometimes it is enjoyable to have the companionship for a couple of hours, it is just more enjoyable to go home to my house, my routine, my life. All mine, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Yep, for me Single is definitely the way to go.

Porcupines

So having two dogs is a lot like having fourteen porcupines and a mongoose loose in your house. Ok, not the mongoose but I just reread Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and I am in a mongoose sort of mindset. And maybe a cobra or two, you know just for good measure. Anywhoo!

Talking about porcupines. They are sharp, not mind sharp, but pointy sharp. Olive is just like that, no mind that I can find but her toe nails slice up my feet every morning. That dog performs a toe dance like no other on my bare feet every live long day. The tops of my feet resemble an abstract painting of black, blue and yellow. Since it is not Halloween every day, this is not a look that I particularly care to sport.

I have now taken to flinging myself from my bed to the ottoman, then to the top of the tub, from there it is just a small scary shuffle to the shower, ALMOST home free, then a mad dash to the toilet, AWEEEEEE! almost made it, a thousand small needles are shoved into the top of my foot. Every day it goes like this, some days it is one foot, some days it is two feet.

And while I am trying to dance the jig away from 60 lbs of torture, the 17 lb sidekick is trying to scramble up my bare legs in his attempt to join the fray of fun. There is no glamorous way of systematically trying to leap into the air, yell "GET DOWN, DAMMIT (janet)", and hold in your bladder muscles that were the very thing that started this day of horror. Every morning it is a toss up to which catastrophe is most likely to occur; breaking my legs, killing a dog, killing my self, or my bladder just giving up idea that I may make it in time.

I feel like I am on an episode of man vs. beast and the man is loosing. In this case, woman. And I have opposable thumbs. I am supposed to be at the top of the food chain. The top I tell you! I don't drink out of the toilet, I remember the garbage man comes every Monday, I know when the heater kicks on we are not being brought down by invisible zombies and therefore I do not run head first into the wall.

So I guess the bigger question is "Who is really running this show? Me or the fourteen porcupines?"

I'm bettin' on the porcupines.