I have gotten very comfortable with being single. I am totally content to be by myself, and I love my cozy house with my perfect little dog. I enjoy the satisfaction of taking care of myself. In the words of Destiny's Child:
The shoes on my feet
I've bought it
The clothes I'm wearing
I've bought it
The rock I'm rockin'
I've bought it
'Cause I depend on me
If I wanted the watch you're wearin'
I'll buy it
The house I live in
I've bought it
The car I'm driving
I've bought it
I depend on me
The only exception is that I'm not rockin' any kind of rock because all my jewelry was stolen last Halloween (long story, maybe a later blog). And I'm not crazy about the grammar of the chorus. I think "I've bought it" is grammatically correct, but it just sounds funny to me. I have almost reached the point of being independent to a fault. I constantly reject offers of help, and I'm not sure why that is. I am beginning to fully realize this with the prospect of throwing a party all by myself.
I know that I can do it, and I know that even if I had a significant other, he probably wouldn't be any help anyway, but I'm finding the task of doing EVERYTHING myself a little daunting. Because I'm not married, and I've never had the pleasure of registering for a zillion gifts, I do not have all the necessary accoutrements needed to at least serve everything. And I have to get the yard mowed, the house cleaned, my new patio furniture picked up and put in place, and all the food and drinks prepared. So while I am stubbornly insisting on doing everything myself, I may kill myself in the process . . .
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