The woman was reading a dense-looking book and that made her seem a little more human, a little more vulnerable. A book is usually my go to companion when dining alone. Truth be told, I will almost never dine in public alone without a book. It’s like my armor or something – defense against those who would stare and say, “Look at that poor single woman eating all by herself.” Except, when I looked at the woman last night I didn’t think anything of the sort. She just looked like someone who liked to treat herself to a dinner out of the house, with a good glass of wine and a good book.
I really know nothing about her but I’ve been thinking about her this morning, wondering if she could help me get the gumption to dine alone just for the heck of it. She didn’t have a wedding ring so I started to wonder if like me, she was chronically single, or if she had recently separated, divorced, or lost her husband in a tragic accident. I mean I guess he just could have died in a less dramatic fashion, but she sort of looked like a woman who didn’t lead an ordinary life.
I’ve been thinking more about my aloneness of late. Perhaps, I’m contemplating it a bit too much but I’ve been wondering if maybe I’m alone because I am really good at being on my own. I have friends that are horrible at being alone. They just can’t handle it. I know women for whom it is a tragedy of epic proportions to leave their children and husband only for a few hours, and men who have no idea what to do with themselves when their significant others are busy. There seem to be so many people out there who would rather do anything than be on their own.
This is not to say that I am never lonely or that I always love being by myself. There are definitely times when it is more than I can take. But generally, I’m not at a loss with what to do with my time. It’s just the opposite – there are simply not enough hours in the day to do all the things I want to do.
Now sometimes I will wallow – watch way too much craptatic television or read the same maudlin books over and over. But there is usually too much fun to be had, too many yoga classes to attend, so many books to read and write, oodles of food to cook, scores of people to meet, multitudes of walks to be walked, and endless trips to be taken.
I have all these grand plans for when I have more time. First up will probably be either French or Italian classes. I think French would be more practical, but there is just something about Italian that sounds so delicious, so passionate. “Devo fermarmi al bancomat per prelevare dei contanti! Che fine hanno fatto tutti i miei soldi?!?!” Doesn’t that sound way better than, “I need to go to the ATM to withdraw some cash! What has happened to all of my money?!!?”
Alright, that is enough existential pondering and massacring of the Italian language for one day. I know some of you are wondering, when is this crazy girl going to get back to dating so I can read less about her dog and more about the psychopaths that get let out of the asylum to meet and date our girl? Well, I think I may have sufficiently lulled myself into a sense of forgetfulness about how awful dating is to give it another go. Yet again. Sigh. Well, maybe another day. I still have to figure out which method or platform will be my reentry into dating. Will it be one of the numerous dating websites I’ve tried in the past? (see Clash of the Titans: A Comparative Analysis of Dating Services for more info) Will I give speed dating another try? Are there other ways out there to meet non-psychotic men who might actually be fun to hang out with?
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