I don’t know why I am amazed each time I find myself praying when I clean dishes. No matter how many -- no matter if I’m just rinsing them, or if it’s a sink full of pans from cooking for a crowd. I always talk to God when I’m doing dishes. And I’m tired of saying the same things over and over. If you’ve read more than a few of my entries, you know or can figure what I always say.
The more it torments me the more I start to believe that I’m getting my answer but I just don’t like it or don’t want to accept it. Of the people I hung around with in high school and college, I’m the last one who is still single. For the love of all that is holy – many of the kids I worked with in youth group 10, 8, 5 years ago are engaged, married, or have started families.
I don’t want to feel tormented with this through another holiday season. Every year for the last 15 (at least!) I’ve consoled myself with, “next year”. Next year you’ll be in a relationship. Next year you’ll be planning a future with someone. Next year you won’t feel so alone and adrift. Next year, next year, next year.
What I’m thinking right now is: Catch a clue you damned moron! You’re going to be just as alone next year – why would it change?
Then. As if that wasn’t enough – I feel guilty. In the grand scheme of things...so what if I’m still keeping my own company? I have a place to live. I have a job. I have my health. I have a supportive family. I have a pretty awesome dog. Why can’t I just be grateful for what I have? Why can’t I accept those blessings and not be tormented by what I don’t have?
Because. It’s not what I want.
And who the hell cares, anyway? Nobody promised me I’d find the love of my life before I turned {whatever age I thought I’d be settled down}. {Impressionable young women should not be allowed to read romance novels – they’re crap.}
and so I put it out to the universe (or, at least the internet):
Resolved –
I give up. I. give. up. I will not console myself with “next year”. For all I know it’s not going to happen ever. Fine. I’m done.
I don’t really swear as much as I used to...but I’ll say it before someone else does:
Mhari Dubh you are so full of shit.
