She says shes’ going to take him back because what else does she know. The man in a monster but she’s the kind to think just because he’s unfaithful sometimes doesn’t mean he’s not a loyal man. I can’t help but look at her like she’s crazy, but what do I care? I don’t have to subject myself to that kind of strain just to say I have someone who smells like outside all the time to lay up next to me. I have standards.

Standards that have to allow me to have seen my best life pass before my eyes. The ones I miss that interaction with human beings because put up a front that I somewhat am alone. The kind that has me wishing I had a family of my own. The type of standards that have scared me away from thinking I can’t get anyone at my age because I am too harsh and old to be loved by another human being. The kind that has to be relishing and embellishing my humor in my loneliness. The humming wail of my fan is the closest I have with interaction, with the noise that fills dead space.

I was thinking about my loneliness as I spent my day with friends and family, I wasn’t alone that day, but the creeping feeling of the not unspoken social contract all women are assumed under. That nuanced pressure I had in the back of my head had me feeling as if I am on a remote island, stranded. I was relishing my humor when I was visiting friends. It wasn’t the desperation of not having a partner that was killing me, but the question of why and if I should. Another calm in my waves of desperation.