Single.

I spent a lot of time over the weekend discussing relationships – and why I’m not in one – with delightful, well-meaning people who only want the best for me.

Siiiiiiigh.

“It concerns me,” one of them said, “that you appear to have given up.”

I can actually see how someone would come to this conclusion, being as I don’t date, rarely at this point go out, and told eHarmony and Geek2Geek to take a hike months ago. Yes, I do appear to have given up. However, after some introspection, I realize that I may be giving the mistaken impression that I was ever in the game in the first place, because I really wasn’t. 

Let’s put it this way: you can stand in the water all you want to, but that doesn’t mean you’re swimming.

If I’m going to be completely honest (and why not? Why be otherwise?) there are several factors involved with my “oh hell to the no” with the dating. The first is this: I spent some time this weekend reflecting on my relationship history, and with a couple of notable exceptions (not coincidentally, these exceptions are the few exes I still speak to), that history? Is a timeline of realllllllly bad choices. Oh so bad. The kind where, if you were at a movie about relationships, you might curse at the heroine on the screen, throw popcorn at her, and then damn the writers for creating such a phenomenally stupid character.

Unfortunately, I AM … with distressing regularity … that phenomenally stupid. (However, it is also sometimes hysterically funny, but that is another post ENTIRELY.) It occurs to me that I attract, and am attracted to,  er… quirky personalities* and since the one constant through every relationship is ME, perhaps it’s in everyone’s interest – you know, like all of the people who have to deal with me – if I opt off of this particular Crazy Train.

So there’s that.

The second factor is, of course, fear. When my ex-husband left me, it nearly killed me. I don’t think I have the kind of sterling character that is required to survive something like that twice. I just don’t.  There’s not really a way to pretty that up or make it funny, so … moving on.

The third part is that I’m fairly content with my quiet little life. I’m a homebody. I mostly live inside my head, which is annoying to partner types. I have a tendency to put all of my ridiculousness on the internet, which can ALSO be annoying to partner types. (“Oh, hi, remember the fight we had where I called you an asshat? The internet ALSO thinks you’re an asshat. Asshat.”) I don’t want to be with someone and have them think they need to fix me, mold me, save me, change me. (This always happens. “I love that you’re independent. Now depend on me.” Uh, no. But thanks.)  I have some baggage. Oh hell, I have so much baggage that I’m considering hiring a bellboy to lug it around. But I’m used to it. It’s MINE. And I deal with it.

Perhaps not with, as recently was also suggested, a formal therapist, but I deal with it.

I love my friends and family, and I love that they want me to be happy. But I also think that the way to drive a single woman in her thirties insane is to keep asking her why she doesn’t have a romantic partner or suggesting ways in which she could meet one, when really? She’s fine just the way she is.

Sometimes, you don’t NEED to go swimming.

Sometimes, it’s enough just to stand in the water and watch everyone else swim.

* kinder way of saying  “deviant, insane, criminal types.”