Lonely is just a word

My biggest fear used to be dying alone an old woman with 50 cats in a broken down little shack, where all the neighborhood kids think I'm a old evil witch and dare each other to knock on my door come Halloween.

I am starting to believe that it was not my biggest fear but a vision of the future.

I am, what you might call, destined to be single. I can not imagine ever sharing my life, my intimacies, my struggles, my habits, my nosepicking or buttscratching, with any other individual on the planet. There has not been a man in my life in over a year, and I am currently spending more time with my vibrator than the television. There have been no heart palpitations, no signs of a crush, no butterflies in belly. I don't even think I would know what to do if I did meet someone. But I won't. Because I am closed-minded when it comes to love or dating or sex. I don't want a real person, I want an illusion, a chase, a spectacle. I want the passion of pursuit. And yes, I think I even covet the letdown, for then I have something meaningful to write.

It's hard to be meaningful when your biggest sourse of sex comes from a purple piece of plastic.

Amanda once wrote me a poem. It was truly beautiful but heartbreakingly sad, that said I would always be alone because no man could ever love me enough to get to know the real me. That I was always going to be alone. Always.

I think she knew even then.