The trimming service came yesterday to prune for the winter. The trees are shockingly bare now, all grayish and jagged hard edges where grand limbs were snapped and removed. Trying to remember if they grow back, fully regenerate and renew, returning every year to full bloom.
I’m fine single, it’s the alone part of it that has me sad today. I wanted to be Mary Richards, tossing a carefree beret into the air, apartment cozy with wacky characters, dates with men who wear suit jackets. Or Carrie Bradshaw (albeit less needy) and a circle of four, women always there, similar yet different.
Online friends aren’t flesh-and-bone, ‘round the corner for a drink, cry on the shoulder real. Real friends have commitments and the social security of family. And family is a concept that’s lost most of its meaning.
And actually, taking care of me feels empowering and smart and sane. Just wish I had more genuine company on the weekends. Especially this one.