Spinster

It's a Saturday night and I'm home on the couch drinking vodka and watching movies. Basically, I'm working. Which means things are the same as always: pathetic. Today I was at the community college with the dog, and I couldn't find my keys. My cell phone was at the house. I only had one number in my head, so I borrowed a phone from someone and called the boy. He has a spare key to my house, I thought. He'll come and rescue me. Voice mail. Well, nevermind, because I ended up finding my keys buried in my bag, and ended up feeling like a complete moron. At any rate, I would have thought that a frantic call would have prompted him to at least call me later to check and see that I was okay, but nope, that would be wrong. And even though I really don't have any right to be angry, it still stings quite a bit. On the way home, I tried to think of any other people whose phone numbers are committed to memory, and other than my parents, there are none. This is a problem, for a couple of reasons. Obviously, if I get in a bind, that doesn't work. But also, it mean that there are few people who call me often enough that I see their number and know it. He is literally the only one. Not that he calls me a lot, but he has been calling me for several years.

I think about all the years I wasted taking his calls, thinking he cared, thinking our relationship was going somewhere, and it really irritates me. I feel like an idiot. Now I'm getting to the point where the realization of time is stronger and stronger, and I'm seeing that I have nothing to show for all these years. I'm a spinster. Childless. Single. Broke. I sound like such a winner. I guess I always assumed that things would just happen and fall into place, and they haven't. And now I don't know what to do about it, since it was just supposed to happen.

So I got a dog. It's like an admission that this is the only way anyone will ever love me and look forward to me coming home. An admission that my life is so boring that coming home to take care of the dog is all that I need to do. No chance of impromptu sleepovers, or crazy last minute trips. I guess in a way I've given up. Now I have a little guy to lick my feet and wag his tail when he sees me and mope when I'm gone, but his English isn't very good, and he'll never be able to build anything for me. I guess this is it. The time when I finally admit defeat and start living like the spinster that I always was.