Sunday I had nothing to do. I originally had plans to watch the Super Bowl with some ladies. But after burning the candle at both ends for three nights in a row, my small bank account and big eye bags convinced me to stay in and lounge.
So I lay around bored, restless.
As I observed earlier this week, I had a busy weekend. Since becoming single, I’ve been scheduling more events than Live Nation. I keep telling myself this busy little bee act is part of re-discovering who I am and what I want out of life. It’s all about having fun and enjoying my freedom.
But Sunday I was thinking: I’m no bee; I’m an ostrich in a sandbox. When you’re with someone, life seems validated somehow. Even watching TV seems like a grand activity when you’re cuddling with your cutie instead of lying on the couch with nothing but a martini to keep you warm.
I don’t read fashion magazines, but I recently soaked myself in celebrity trash talk while soaking my pedis at the spa. I read an article in Vogue about Jennifer Aniston, who will turn 40 soon. Of course, the media makes a huge deal about her single status at that age – insert big eye roll here. She remarked that she doesn’t like “Sex in the City” because the characters are always man-obsessed, as if their whole lives are about finding the man, keeping the man, pleasing the man.
Those comments made a lot of sense to me. I’m Suzanne Woodstock and my happiness should not hinge on any “him”s.
While bored Sunday, I stumbled across a blog that my ex, Darren, has recently started. Ironic that we both decided to embark on such projects at about the same time, especially considering we both agree how much crap there is on the Internet.
I only read a little before I forced myself to stop. And I realized I miss him a little bit. Strong, single women are not supposed to admit such things, but there it was in front of me.
Of course my blog is a way for me to lessen the pain by finding some life lessons in love. And hell, I’m having fun with it. (Stayed tuned for some dating experiments.)
But I can’t alliterate to alleviate. Finding fun in singledom doesn’t mean happiness is a finger tippity-tap away.
Be I a bee or an ostrich, I’m learning all I can about me. That way, when the right guy does come along, I won’t need him to validate my lazy Sunday of TV watching.