I woke up this morning and realised that my disappointment in my ex was an indicator. I’d been holding myself in reserve for him, holding out for faint hope. We hadn’t really done the whole mourning period/”let’s not talk for X months” thing. That painful adjustment period where the fuzzy warmth of coupledom (no matter how dysfunctional) is replaced with the unrelenting reality of constant, single decision-making. No longer is there that other half to consult for feedback, from as mundane an issue as “what should I wear today?” to “I’m having a problem at work, can I talk to you?”
It’s the seemingly banal, the everyday lived experience, that is the hardest adjustment of breakups. Life itself becomes a constant cruel reminder of aloneness. Even the banal is now stripped of any vestiges of charm.
But you know what? Being single means being able to date other people. So instead of me pretending to try by getting onto a dating website and saying “no” to 50 people who replied (then deleting my profile and running away), I’m going to start taking chances again.
I’m not quite sure what those will be right now. Stay tuned.