It's another one of those days, when I reflect on my achievements of the past year and wallow in the hopelessness of the human condition and wonder what exactly it is about me that sends men scampering for the hills.
Or rather jungle or tundra or the nearest available hostel.
But strangely, rather then whining about how a year ago, I thought I'd gotten it right this time and found a decent man who was a good deal less commitment-phobic than my usual swashbucklers, I'm feeling pretty good and like "Screw him and the way he didn't just dump me but rather obliterated me from his stuck-in-the-past work-obsessed existence" and there's the additional knowledge of this:
I don't have to be like everyone else. So I'm single, childless, alone, and struggling to make peace with staying in one place and holding down a job and normal life instead of roaming the planet.
So what. Many people might call that lucky.
43 and gaining wisdom. Happy birthday to me.