Another Saturday night and I ain’t go nobody, I got some money cause I just got paid …
Well, one out of two. It is definitely Saturday night and if you don’t count one rather dirty Golden Doodle, I am definitely flying solo. I didn’t, however, just get paid because the local radio chain is being somewhat pokey in offering me the perfect made-to-measure gig.
So yeah, I’m alone and broke.
And no, this is not going to be another poor-me pity-party blog. Because I am feeling neither poor nor pitiful. I am feeling like … a cheeseburger.
Yep. I’m feeling like eating a big ole cheeseburger (extra pickles please) and a salad (because I’m not a complete Neanderthal) and settling into my naugahyde sofa (don’t ask) and watching me some equally cheesy chick-flick. You know – the kind that invariably causes male eyeballs to roll over-dramatically when the owner of said eyeballs is confronted with even the slightest possibility that action/adventure is not an option.
I can do this tonight, yes – I can have cheeseburger with my cheese, because there are no vegetarians or males or even male vegetarians here to vote me down. The dog loves meat (bless his heart) and apart from the occasional viewing of 101 Dalmatians, has never got to vote on a Saturday night movie anyway.
So tonight I plan to embrace my singlehood. And my cheeseburger. Because today I learned, in the most gentle way, that I am not ready to mate up. I am not ready to welcome male eyeballs into my sacred now-solo environ. I have been far too briefly single to successfully banish, or even file enough thoughts of the past to allow the future to blossom in any fruitful way.
Whatever I might do now with a new boy would merely be band-aiding. Plugging up holes in an ever-spouting sieve. Putting the cart in front of a very tired, old horse. I realized today that, as sad as it sounds, the poor old horse has to die first. Then and only then will I be able to figure out a new way to haul my ass around.
It’s another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody. But I do have a fluffy pooch, a cheeseburger and a chick-flick with my name on it. And that is just fine.