I’m lonely. Bitter and lonely.

I don’t want to date….but when no one asks me to go on a date, I feel stung and…..lame.

What is wrong with me? Are my thighs too large? Do I not have a good enough job? Do I have too much baggage? Do I look to androgynous?

Then I look around at what is out here. I’m young-ish but old enough that if someone my age is single, there is often a very good reason. The dregs at the bottom of the glass. Is that how I am seen? The leftovers.

I mentally ask Jeff to send someone interesting my way….And then think I am an idiot. I don’t want anyone in my life! The kids and I are fine. I get to choose all the pictures on the walls. I am the master of my domain! I was truly loved by a wonderful man who I adored and could never ‘replace’ that.

But then I find myself curled up around my cold hands wishing I had someone’s armpits to stuff them in to warm them up. Someone who’d listen as I told them the long-winded anti-climactic story of my drive home behind a woman with a beehive hairdo and five chihuahuas. Someone who’d share the huge pot of chicken stew I made that won’t fit in the freezer, dooming my single self to three days of a strict stew diet after the kids have long grown tired of the thick and healthy vegetable laden broth.

Back and forth I go. Yes, I want to date. No, I most certainly don’t want some cast-off in my life. But I want someone to give a damn about what goes on here. But I don’t want to worry about the hairdo my legs are sporting. But it would feel great to care about someone and know that they think I’m the bomb. But I’m glad I don’t have to put the toilet seat down before I sit…..

For now, maybe I should just ask Jeff to help me decide what the hell I want in my life. Because how I’m feeling right now is just pathetic and quite possibly, desperate. Not traits that are at all attractive or conducive to inviting a possible relationship into my life, really.