So, I’m enjoying being single. Which is weird, if you know me. If you don’t know me, trust me- it’s weird. I do not enjoy being single. I like having my person. And don’t get me wrong, I’m still very much missing having my person, but it’s ok.
I had a phone conversation with an acquaintance this morning. I was discussing an upcoming trip and the fact that hiking and swimming would likely be on the agenda. I commented that I’d have to swim in shorts because my ass is covered in bruises. This upset him. He wouldn’t admit that it had upset him, but it did. He kept going on and on about how I hadn’t told him about a rope dojo the previous weekend. I did, but the point is, who cares? I’m not obligated to report my every move to him. We’re not together. We haven’t even technically met. I don’t really report my every move to anyone let alone him. And if we were together? I still wouldn’t. I am a woman in my mid-30s, totally capable of making decisions and plans, and I don’t need those approved by anyone.
And this led to the realization that I’m enjoying being single. Because if I was with someone I’d have let them know ahead of time that I was attending a rope dojo, I’d have felt like it was the right thing to do to let them know before I did a scene, and if they’d seemed bothered by it I’d have thought twice about going through with it. And I don’t miss that. And this is kind of freeing. I don’t know how long it’ll last because, frankly, I enjoy having my person, but at the moment I’m feeling rather cat who caught the canary 😉