David Dodd 1:48 a.m., May 18
We all date. And we all date for a varied number of days, weeks, or for the truly brave, years. I count myself amongst the fearless soldiers of singles who lived in the trenches while others flitted on and off the battlefield as if it were a bloody two week stop on the way to rebound relationship safe haven. I stayed and I fought, resisting neutrality with passion and certitude until I got cold-cocked and dragged from the field into enemy territory. From that point forward I found myself waking up in the same bed, with the same man week after week after week. I found myself finding something of value in the enemy.
It was shocking every morning. I would wipe the drool from the crevice of my lips, turn, stretch, luxuriate in my red comforted single bed, until my eyes opened to the rays of daylight and my hand brushed flesh that was not my own.
Every morning I would throw open my eyes in a panic and sit straight up in bed, only to realize I was in a relationship and my single bed was gone for at least a few months.
I know it’s blasphemous. All the books say a relationship is the victory…the point at which you can declare, “The war is over and the battle is won!”
I truly care about my “boyfriend” (still in quotes because I can’t quite say it without rolling my eyes) and he really is a good guy. But, perhaps, I am no happier than the happiness I had in the trenches of full out singledom.
This is heresy, I know, but it’s true.
I am happy now and I was then.
I was never delusional enough to believe that movies starring Julia Roberts were real, but I have to admit that my heart fell for it just a little. I thought that, perhaps, one might meet someone and with that someone everything would be simple and easy and solved.
Well, there is no solvent and that is good.