Who here was there?

It's midnight and I really should be turning out the lights, but I can't help thinking about the fact that when I do, there'll be no one to snuggle up to. Today, as we were taking the train home, post-comedy show (nothing like people talking about their own insecurities to make you self-reflective), I whined to my no-longer-single friend about the desperation-reeking fallacy that is the NYC dating scene. In an aloof tone, she opined, "well, you're starting grad school, so maybe dating someone in the first year isn't the best idea." I was horrified to imagine yet another year of singularity. Though my current shallow expectations of a romantic relationship are based on three simple truths (cooking and eating together, having sex with careless abandon, and playing the role of nighttime body pillow), and I know in my heart that relationships ain't all they're cracked up to be, you'll never convince a single person that it's better to be alone. Sure, there have been times I've sworn myself to celibacy... like this time... but there's nothing like griddle-ing a grilled cheese sandwich for your beloved. And we all reneged on our word time and time again (you're no straight-laced exception, yeah, you) as we slid into yet another hopeless romantic tryst. 

Anyway, time to enter the dreamland of trashy romance novels. Over and out.