I’m not good at being single.  I don’t care for being alone with myself for extended periods of time, never have been.  I don’t know why.  Don’t get me wrong, after spending all day with the public and my coworkers I long for peace and quiet.  I need some quiet time to recharge after nine hours of being extroverted but four days worth?  Not so much.

My wife, the honorable Constance Sue Ripley, has traveled to Florida to spend a few days with our oldest daughter.  They’re romping through Universal Parks, visiting beaches and eating like queens.  They deserve it.  I don’t mind it, except for the quiet.  Let’s face it…I can only watch so much television, I can only work out for so long.  I can only half-ass clean the house once.  I can only crank up classic rock and air-jam for limited periods of time before it feels like I’m working out again.  I’m just no good at being single.

I don’t sleep well when I’m single, there’s no one to tell me to “roll over” because I’m snoring like a chainsaw.  There’s no one to invade my side of the bed during my once a night trip to the bathroom to relieve myself.  There’s no one to put their ice-cold feet on my warm body when she comes to bed.  There’s no one to comfort when she’s had a bad dream.  I’m just no good at being single.

Now before you think that I’m looking for a pity party or offer to let me half-ass clean your house let me just say “no thanks”.  I could, at a moments notice, show up unannounced to any one of my buddies homes and be welcomed in.  I’d rile up their kids, I’d hear the usual “oh…the house doesn’t always look this way” from their wives (yeah…right. Honestly…I don’t care what your house looks like.  Its your house) or find out that they were just heading out the door.  Its okay.  I got this.

I did have some activities come up to kill the time.  Thursday night I took my Little Brother (from Big Brothers/Big Sisters) out and bought some dress clothes for him since he just got his first job, then I gave him some unsolicited job and life advice (which 14 year olds LOVE).  Friday night I lived it up at a visitation (true story) then came home and knocked down a couplea Moscow Mules.  Read a book and lights out at 9:45.  Whoop-PEE!!  I was awake at 5:30.  Out for coffee and breakfast.  (this fast lane that I’m livin’ in has room for only a few lost souls…)

I could go to a bar and knock back a couplea drinks and watch the games, trading witticisms with other lonely’s.  I could visit my Mother.  I could take her to the bar and knock back a couplea drinks then let her drive me home, even though she hasn’t driven for a couplea years. It’d all be good (Mom would NOT appreciate that kind of spontenatiaty).  I could mow the lawn, but its raining.  I AM doing a lot of laundry, which is good busy work but lousy for making conversation (“soooo…have you always wanted to be a sock?”)

We’re painfully honest with each other…my wife and I.  She states that I will, in all likelihood, eat out a lot while she’s gone.  That’s not entirely true.  I’ll have eaten out twice in thirteen meals.  I tried eating out by myself when I was genuinely single.  It just made me feel even more alone.

Thankfully enough today has several activities planned.  I’ll head into work for an hour to do some paper work.  I’ll referee three basketball games, then in all likelihood I’ll mow the yard (insert yawn right….now).  Soon my singleness will be over.  Connie will return and quiz me on what parts of the house were half-assed cleaned verses full-assed cleaned (she’s like that…).  She’ll mention that she saw the bakery boxes that the gourmet cinnamon rolls and jumbo chocolate chip muffins used to be in (those bakeries ain’t gonna make it on their own without my help!). She’ll ask how many times that I made our bed (twice).  She’ll regale me with tales of her adventures with our daughter, showing me photos on her camera. She’ll tell me that she has a scratchy throat from flying and being around someone who coughed a lot and I WON’T CARE.  Just come here and let me hold you in my arms.  I’m tired of being single.

Advertisements