Fuck all you people not currently single for 2+ years. I'm desperate & depressed, it's 2am & I've spent the day doing a long, frustrating recording session, &c. No coherent point likely to be made.
  1. A "dry spell" is not six months. It is way, way, longer.
    It's worse enough to envy you coupled-up cats, & those currently in the midst of even the worst breakups, but I even envy those who have been single for less than a year. Including late-2013 self (see next).
  2. I play guitar. Really well. Not just Wonderwall.
    This goes against all cultural norms. What about that one study that one time with the guy asking women out with & without guitar case in hand?
  3. I haven't even been on a date since August 2014.
    The next most recent was August 2013, when the only relationship I'd ever got off the ground ended after six weeks. I was willing to settle for this pitiful pattern, but fucking August 2015 had to be a bitch.
  4. Just to cover all bases...
    6'1", literature nerd, man bun, NYU-er, distance runner, live in a massive city, great humor, have Pintrest-y lights strung in my backyard, foodie, ask me more, blah blah blah...
  5. They say you don't truly get over the last one until the next one.
    Long-term testing this like the fucking Voyager I probe. So far, so true.
  6. Never had a SO for any holiday other than the 4th of July.
    This makes me seem oddly more patriotic than I am. Yeah, no Valentines/Christmas/beautiful spring day. Not even a paltry fucking Columbus Day.
  7. Things I've spent far more time doing than anything remotely relationship-y.
    ListApp (holla), Wikipedia races, listening to the CD my ex made to be the soundtrack of our relationship (Van Morrison/Jackson Browne ftw), contemplating how abstract the concept of a real relationship is to me, yardwork, &c &c...
  8. At this point, it's like a just-shy-of-nuclear-level breakup, every week.
    Friday - Wednesday, reset self Thursday, repeat cycle.
  9. It's pitiful, depressing, neurotic.
    And will never change. I think of that Kafka line where the door we've been desperately banging on opens at last to reveal we've been on the inside, that our journey is our destination. Too, Sam Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape: "Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back."
  10. 💩
    That helped. Daylight self will be mortified there was a chance actual people read this. Guys aren't allowed to spill like this, right? Bless you who endured reading this.