The Single epoch.

I just hung up the phone with JJ, both of us tucked into our Winnipeg and Montreal beds before eight in the evening, respectively. It felt great to shoot the shit. I have been thinking about last night's parties and how it felt to walk around those rooms scouring faces and forearms for a clue of a potential suitor. The hunt is so pathetic, but so inevitable. I am surrounded by wonderful couples that I am blessed to know and be fed by both literally and metaphorically. Talking to JJ was a subtle reminder that being single is great and I need to take stock of the good. This is the time to grab life by the balls, leave town at the drop of a hat, travel, spend grocery money on nice wine, wear the shit out of heels, stomp down sidewalks in wild outfits without a care in the world, drink coffee, get expensive haircuts, go for bicycle rides at three in the morning because sleep is impossible, never close doors, never draw blinds, buy outlandishly expensive groceries for lavish dinner parties with my best friends, be selfish and not feel guilty. I have been doing all of these things for years now, enjoying my life but too wrapped up in unlucky love to truly appreciate these young years spent mainly alone. And they have been great, I am a rich woman in that sense.

Someday, when I lie across from my other half while spooning ice cream from the tub atop my chest and into my mouth, I will think back and miss those wild parties of wiping blood on strangers, stumbling home alone every time and eating chili on hardwood floors still dead drunk at one in the afternoon the next day trying hard to feign interest in a new lego police car cradled carefully in little hands. Someday I will look back on those things and be psyched that I could do all of them at my own pace, on my own clock. An epoch of singledom, if you will. Being selfish (in a healthy, positive way) to measure time and space and love and life.

Anyway, all of that aside this is how I feel about winter (even though it is old news, to everyone). I have been flipping a lid over fresh-outta-art-school Ana Benaroya's work. Click, and go bananas just like I did.

Cool. Pardon the profanities, but winter has got to go. Today is March! Hurray, hurray, three cheers for big ears. Ding dong the suicide month is dead. Let's march.