I'm feeling a little better today. There's only so long a person can wallow in self-pity, when the feeling was triggered by a man she's met only twice. Besides, I woke up to the uplifting, cheery sound of radio interviews with terror-attack survivors in Be'er Sheva . . . so now I just feel sort of beaten and worn, not actively depressed. It's hard to stay depressed about dating when some kids were killed and hurt on their way home from school-supply shopping.
Also, two of my favorite blogs have been on a sort of anti-complaining kick lately. And I want you all to know that despite my self-pity over being single and 32 and lonely and dejected, I really do know that I have a fabulous life. I have a generally healthy body, a great apartment, an income that meets all my important needs plus some luxuries, parents who have been together for 33 years, a great sister and brother-in-law and two terrific nephews, and fantastic amazing friends, and smarts, and some talent, and some social skills. I'm better off than 99 percent of the world's population. I have only lived in democracies. I've been to Disneyland and to Acadia National Park. I have a washing machine in my apartment, and all the (clean!) water I could want, and a fridge that always has food in it. There are people in my life I can count on to be there for me when I need them. I've gotten a very high-level education and didn't have to work three jobs to earn it. I'm part of a fantastic religion and religious community. I have the tools to make ethically sophisticated decisions. My neighborhood is clean and has lots of flowers, and someone has painted all the recycling bins -- different pictures and designs on each one.
Bli ayin hara, it's a good life!
(But men sure do suck for not wanting to share it.)