Wednesday, July 26, 2006
MySpace Couples
by Irena the Croatian
It makes me sick to my stomach. Maybe it's PDA in general... who knows. I've been single for a year now - officially. Recently, passed the one year mark from the magic divorce date--no offense, Mark... Anyway, I'm still gloating in the glory of singledom. I spent the last 45 minutes of my precious life watching couples on Myspace. Yes, I am MySpace people watching again. It really is my favorite way to pass time. And yes, it reminded me of all the reasons that I like this fortress of solitude. Pffft. Haha.
But really, 'what are you doing tonight' ' what did you do yesterday' 'what time did you wake up' 'what did you eat for breakfast' 'why didn't you call me back right away' 'what color was your pee' 'you broke my heart into a thousand pieces rip rip rippity stab stab rip' 'oh my god you talked to another guy' 'oooh look at my boyfriend' 'ooooh look at my girlfriend' ooohh we're so happy in love love love and we're never gonna break up and we're gonna drive each other insane and into the ground and our graves will be dug with heart-shaped shovels' and 'look, world... here we come to our white picket-fence and the Sunday morning paper and Wal-mart brand groceries and the same fucking tv show every fucking night and the casserole dinners and paper plates'. Microwave me, save your time.
I like my Sunday morning Onion, my white metal fence on the balcony of the condo I rent. I like watching Finding Nemo, doing yesterday's dishes today, chasing my daughter while she's wearing a pillow. I like leaving when I want, coming back when I want, even if all I do is drive around and put up posters that a petty asshole with an ego problem will tear down. I like going to bed wearing what I was wearing when I came home, I like keeping my toilet seat down and not washing anyone's boxers. I like my time with my daughter, I like that time for me. I don't need the pedestal, the re-assurance, the dependence, the forced co-dependence. Hearing "I love you" until my ears are numb to it, until it becomes nothing but water that I rinsed last night's dishes with. Into the drain... used for its purpose. I probably didn't need to rinse the dishes I could have just put them into the dishwasher. And you feel forced to say it back. You can't not say it back.
I like my solitude. I like my fortress. I like to skip the dishwasher and wash my dishes by hand. I like my balcony, my fence, scratching my daughter's back until she falls asleep, because she wouldn't otherwise—and I like it that way. But the days when she's not here I hate it. I hate the fortress and I hate the solitude. But, thank God for P-Nuckle, Photoshop, and 11x17s that some petty asshole with an ego problem will tear down.
Posted at 6:00 AM
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