Prologue

This is a post I put on my other blog somewhere in the middle of last night. I've decided it's okay to put here.

This is about writing instead of doing something stupid. Something regrettable. I've done millions of regrettable things in my life, and contemplated the most regrettable too many times.

So, am I thinking I'd like to die? Yup. I am. I know, it's crazy. But, haven't we all felt it at one time or another? That life simply wasn't worth living? That, given the alternative (living), death seemed preferable? Of course we have. I guess I've just considered it maybe a little more than others.

It runs in the family, what can I say.

I'm 48 years old.

Forty Eight Years Old.

I've been single for 6 years. No, more than 6 years. Six years and 4 months. I've dated. I've probably been on hundreds of dates in the last six years. Maybe not hundreds, tens anyway. Maybe 50. Maybe more than 50. Regardless, I've been on lots of dates. I've introduced myself and told my boring story about where I live and what I do and what my life has been like so many times I'm thinking I should write up a little laminated card to give out at the beginning of a date. It would be so much easier. Quicker. Less boring, maybe even. For me, at least.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm boring. Of course, I don't think I am, but maybe I really am. My friends seem to think I'm okay. Although, I don't have that many friends anymore. Mostly because we've just gone our separate ways. Them usually to marriage and parenthood. Me to, well, to this, I guess. I am boring.

I'm 48 years old. I look pretty good for my age. Although, not as good as last year. I'm aging. It's true. It's a fact I can't escape. I have an okay body. It's not great. I'm not fat by any stretch, but I'm not toned especially, either. I try. I go to the gym. But it doesn't happen as quickly as it once did. I'm a little flabby. I've lost and gained and lost lots of weight in my life. This shows in my body.

This too, I'm sure, would drive someone away. Someone who has aspirations of sleeping with a 40-something woman more like Teri Hatcher, let's say, or the woman on CSI, Marg Helgenberger, I think her name is. I don't look like them. So, if someone were expecting that, they'd be disappointed.

And so, before me, lies the great expanse of life. Of however many years I may live. Could be a year, could be less, could be 40. It's a great expanse no matter how long it is and contemplating living it alone is dreadful, frankly. Dreadful. My mother lived most of her adult life alone. I don't want that. I don't want my mothers life, but somehow I've gotten it. Or seem to have.

I'd rather die than live my mothers life.

My heart does literally hurt. I haven't lost love, well not just now. I maybe haven't lost anything at all. Except maybe my pride, which I don't have a tremendous amount of anyway. I've lost hope. That's what it is, really. I've lost hope. Defeated. I feel utterly defeated. Like I've been fighting the last 6 years. Well, I haven't been fighting for a relationship, but it is a struggle, somehow. It shouldn't be.

And of course, one wonders what one is doing wrong. Or what is wrong with oneself. My flaws are, of course, numerous. Maybe too numerous. Maybe I should try to identify them and eradicate as many as possible.

Maybe I shouldn't take it all so personally. But how the fuck do you not take it personally? How can I possibly detach myself from rejection? On some level, some very sick and sad level, I've gotten used to it. To being rejected and being disappointed. What awful things to get used to.

And maybe that's a sign that I'm doing something wrong. That I'm taking the wrong approach. I just think I'm too something. Or not enough of something else. Over and over.

And that's not to say I haven't done a share of rejection, myself. There's definitely been love interests that I did not find interesting. I have a friend who thinks that maybe I'm a tad too picky. I'm not entirely sure what he means by that, except that when he mentions it I always think that if I settled for less than what I wanted, what would I have gained?

If anyone's actually reading this you're probably wondering when I'm going to shut up.

Any minute now...