So, nope, I still haven’t found romance in the Pacific Northwest. How I feel about that depends a great deal on which day you ask me. Most of the time, to be honest, I’m too busy to worry about it. My world seems to revolve around my upcoming anthology.
But yeah, sometimes I’m painfully lonely. Other times I’m resigned to my fate or frustrated beyond words. Still other times, I’m optimistic. But mostly I’m surprised. I think I’m a catch. This is the longest time I’ve been single in decades.
But the other day a friend of mine altered my perspective a bit. She asked me if I had made room for someone to be in my life. Could someone share my living space with me? Is there room in the closet? Places for his stuff? Frankly, no. And it makes me tired just thinking about accommodating someone at this point. I haven’t even finished unpacking, and I’ve been here for nearly two years.
My lifestyle is such that it would be hard to make time for another person. My schedule is weird. Sometimes I work day shift, sometimes I work swing shift, and I work every weekend. That isn’t likely to change any time soon.
All of this means that I basically sleep when I want to and/or can, and sometimes wake up, quite happily, at 3 a.m. Other times I’m only just going to bed at that hour. It would take a special person to adjust to that. And then there’s the fact that I still grieve for Chuck more often than I care to admit.
I think all of this tells me that now is not the time. And oddly enough, I’m okay with that. Mostly.
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