Living alone has its perks. I used to pray for a significant other in my life, and even though it occurs to me that I don't care for the idea of dying alone, the freedom of being single is a priority right now.
Sometimes I eat standing at the kitchen counter or over the kitchen sink, the automatic drip catcher. I'm not obligated to cook a real meal, either. I can have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner.
I can stay up all night and sleep all day if I choose. I can watch what I want to watch on TV, get a neighbor to change my light bulbs, or other little things I cannot do for myself, clean up the house or let it go, and not be obliged to meet the needs of anyone ? except my cat.
I think maybe I'm a bit selfish in my attitude, and that's okay. On the flip side, nobody is obligated to put up with my quirks, moods, or drooling (I hate to admit that I drool at night). I think it's part of growing older ungracefully.
I'm not lacking for conversation. I talk to myself and Cleo (the cat). I even answer myself, and then there's writing things down on paper, exposing myself to anybody who wants to read it (with the exception of my journal). I feel good when people read what I've written and they enjoy it!
I have been married twice. All references in this story refer to my second husband. He had some expectations and wanted my undivided attention. When he proposed marriage, I told him I wasn't the domestic type. After we were married he seemed to forget that. He said that he thought I would change. He wanted me to cook Sunday dinner like his mama used to do. I said, “Hey, it's my weekend too, and I don't want to spend it in the kitchen.”
I was wife number six. His previous wives didn't' work outside the home. I imagine you're wondering why I got married to a man who had five previous wives ? didn't that raise a red flag? Well, he had such plausible explanations regarding why the other marriages failed. I bought into it, but six weeks into that marriage I knew why the other five had failed. He was chauvinistic, didn't want me to spend time with my single girl friends (after all, I was a married woman now). I think he was afraid we'd go bar hopping and I'd be around other men. In actuality, my friend and I were going to a class, learning to read Tarot cards. Besides, she wasn't a drinker.
He wanted us to spend time together. His idea of a good time at home was to be in the bedroom watching two televisions and listening to a radio, each with a different sporting event. He was really big on sports and I wasn't. Listening to and watching games with him was something in which I could never participate. I would have been in the looney bin for sure. I'd be in the living room playing Pac-Man or Breakout on the Atari.
He also thought I scheduled my activities just so I could be away from him, even though his schedule as a bus driver did not have consistent hours.
The day he hit me was the day I knew with certainty that I was going to leave. We had gone to another town to a place I had heard about being a fun place. When we got there it was closed. Is that what put him in such a foul mood? I'll never know.
Instead of turning around and going home we stopped at another place and sat at the bar with our drinks (soft drinks). It was his “pick on Joyce” day, making snide remarks and insulting jokes. Well, I had a belly-full and in an attempt to be subtle, I picked up my purse and went to the ladies' room. When I was finished, I passed our seats at the bar and was going to the exit door.
I planned on driving home alone and leaving his sorry self to get home however he could. Before I got to the car, however, there he was. He grabbed me and hit me. Of course, I hit him back. He grabbed my keys and drove the car home. We were both angry, but made it home safely.
I would have left that night if it hadn't been a rainy night and I had nowhere to go. I started making plans, though, and wrote them in my journal. I didn't know he had ever snooped in my journal, which I always kept in a closed drawer. I had noticed that there were scribbling marks on some of the pages, which I attributed to his children during their bi-weekend visits.
He tried picking my brain one day. He got home from work and told me one of his co-workers was into Tarot card reading, and had told him I was planning to leave, and even when. I knew then that the only way he could possibly know was if he had seen my journal. I was very noncommittal and said something to the effect of “Hmm, that's very interesting.” The subject was dropped but I knew my “secret” was out in the open.
Meanwhile, I rented an apartment and started packing my personal belongings. He was at work at the time so moving was peaceful. Soon thereafter I filed divorce papers.
I've left a lot of detail out of this story. I just wanted to hit the highlights of why I like being single.
There was one man with whom I had a six-year relationship after the divorce. I would have made an exception to my desire to be single in his case. He would have been an ideal husband and was my best friend. We had a lot in common and he wasn't a sports fan. He actually listened to me and cared about what I thought. We had a mutual respect and appreciation for each other. Mind you, the man wasn't perfect ? he snored. However, since he died my perspective on the snoring has changed. At least when he was snoring he was still breathing.
Will I ever want to be with someone again? I don't know. If God sends someone into my life who isn't opposed to the idea of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner, chances are I'd have a change of heart.
