Don’t Ask Me Why I’m Single

Long story short: I’m weird.

Photo by Brandi Redd via Unsplash

Joni Mitchell’s Clouds is spinning on the turntable. My house is empty. I’m sitting on the floor of my living room. A glass of good Napa Valley Petite Sirah sits at my side. The lights are off. My computer is in my lap. It’s Thursday night.

This is what I do. There’s no line of people outside my door wanting to join me in it. It’s a byproduct of being single and probably a reason I’m single.

The bane of most single people’s existence is being asked why we’re single. It’s an odd question that seems like a compliment. It’s basically asking someone what’s wrong with them, though.

I don’t know how to answer that question. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m a little weird and I just haven’t found someone whose weird matches my weird who wants to hang around for a while.

Everyone has their own reason for being single. It’s never exceptionally special. It’s ours, though. That reason should be honored on some level. It’s just rarely understood because it’s hard for us to find a way for it to make sense to someone else.

How do you even put an answer into words? The closest I have ever come was after a…