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I have been single for 34 days.

We had been dating one year, two months, and one day -- not counting the "break" we were on for the last month. I have been single for 34 days, and I am still trying to figure out if, in the quiet moments, I am sad or simply bored. It's midnight, spring semester starts tomorrow, and for the past hour I've been lying in bed watching Sex in the City season one. So I ask myself as I lie alone in my satin and lace chemise, watching a show about (thus far) chronically single women, am I filling my time so I don't realize that I'm lonely or sad?

It doesn't make sense that I'm filling time -- am I writing this only in subconscious imitation of Carrie's monologue-delivered newspaper columns? Well, sure, why not? After all, in the past 34 days I have been happier than I have been since June. But I know me, and I am terrible at being single, so I wonder.

And even in the space of writing these few lines, I smile at how young I seem. No, I am not staying busy to avoid the reality of my life, and I should not write overly verbose LJ posts about a question I have no problem answering. "Am I sad, lonely, and depressed?" No. I just usually am when I'm single. It's so heartening to realize it's only habit making me wonder.


I have been single for thirty four days. What else is going on?


Tell you later.

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