I Think I’m The One

What is it about the power of cinema that can send a settled soul into a state of unrest?

I generally consider myself the non-crier among criers when it comes to stupid love stories, but the fact is I feel it so deep within me that by the time the emotions rise to the surface to spill as tears, the moment has passed for everyone else and I feel too stupid to allow the release to commence. Cue headache.

I have one now. Though I’m alone, and there isn’t an everyone-else to hold composure for. Still, the tears are puddled in my temples, unable to break the pristine surface of glassy eyes.

I allowed myself an afternoon on the couch. Last weekend I crammed an entire weekend into a single day in order to fly out-of-town as the sun rose. An entire weekend is subjective. I did laundry and vacuumed. I went to a friend’s daughter’s birthday party. I worked on some editing. I packed. I went to bed as the sun set and woke up at 5am Sunday morning to be at the airport by 7am, because I like time to sip coffee and feel the warmth of the water renew my skin as sleep does my mind.

So I relaxed today. I worked a bit this morning. I cleaned a bit. I did a bit of laundry. And then I settled in to four hours of HBO. Old movies. Old is subjective. These weren’t black and white classics. These weren’t even classics. They were two movies I enjoyed in a prior life: Sliding Doors and Spanglish. Two movies from before I knew I wasn’t living a movie. Ripe with cheating, my perception of the movies has changed. I don’t remember why I loved these movies before. I still do, but differently: Sliding Doors for the complexity of creating two simultaneous worlds split and unsplit in a single moment and Spanglish for the narrator recounting her first coming-of-age as she embarks on another in such a vivid manner as to evoke a complete visualization of her story.

Perhaps I’m just catching a cold, or perhaps I’m in a state of heightened awareness of my singularity, but the profound sadness which engulfed my soul gripped such a tight grip I felt its claw on my heart.

What is it about the power of cinema that can send a settled soul into a state of unrest?

I am single, un-woo’ed, undated, unsexed. I almost let this bother me as I almost cried.

As the credits rolled after four hours of rom-com horror, I pulled my sheets out of the dryer and made my bed. I put the pillowcase on my one pillow. I allowed my mind to meander. I tried to imagine a second set of hands pulling the elastic corners taught. I tried to imagine a second pillow. I tried to visualize sharing the dinner simmering on the stove and settling on the couch for wine and conversation before proning myself against the warmth of a heart and soul. I failed.

I flirted with someone today. A chance encounter. We chatted. I stepped outside of my comfort zone and invited him in. It ended as quickly as it started. What started with a single raised eyebrow ended with two raised eyebrows. I lamented the lost opportunity, for a moment, and them moved quickly into relief. If I cannot call your phone to give you my phone number because it’s been shut off due to non-payment, you live with your not-terminally-ill or financially-strapped parents, and you’re not twenty, I have no time tonight, or tomorrow, or next weekend, or ever. Thankyouverymuch.

The truth is, I think I’m absolutely ok with being single. There is a significant difference between being single and being alone. I am not alone, though I do sometime feel lonely. Were I not, I think I would have done something about that by now. I’ve tried for over a year to figure this out, again and again and again and again and again. And here I am, once again, trying to figure out where it is I am with me. The truth is, I know I’m absolutely ok with being single.

I’m ok sitting at a two-top table and putting my feet up on an empty chair. I’m ok eating a large popcorn with my coat to my left and my purse to my right. I’m ok bellying up between Norm and Cliff.

And so I watched Crazy, Stupid, Love. and reminded myself of pitfalls of crazy, stupid love and once again settled into perfect contentness with absolute control over the remote, the thermostat, and the middle of the bed.

from "A Beautiful Mess Inside"

from “A Beautiful Mess Inside”


20 thoughts on “I Think I’m The One

  1. I love the way you ended this with “I think it’s working out…” Sometimes I want to be single, just kidding. Good for you. It’s the best thing to be at home with yourself, and by that I mean comfortable.


    • Sometimes I want to be not-single, but ultimately, I’ve found a peace in and with it that is pretty satisfying. My marriage was beyond bad, and the divorce ultimately ugly, and so to have this state of peace now is a personal accomplishment.
      Thank you for sharing your Saturday night with me.


  2. Dear Melanie,

    I found your blog and this post via La Clown … and I am SO GLAD I did! Because I can so relate to almost every word you wrote … down to ‘I think I am the one’! Actually I have been ‘the one’ for such a long time that recently I coined term ‘single foreign female or SFF’ for it (I am Croatian woman living in NZ) and spoke about it in a somewhat humors way on my blog (the Lantern Post). Laughing helps … a lot! Sometimes, I make myself watch comedies … sometimes I cry watching them. It feels better afterwords either way!

    Keep Well,
    P.S. ‘Chin up, lipstick on’ as my good friend would say -:)!


    • I will have to thank Le Clown for sending you my way. And thank you for coming over.
      I love your SFF idea. Laughter is key to so much in life. I don’t think life is without laughter.
      I have a friend I grew up with who moved to NZ. She’s in Blenheim. How did you make the move from Croatia to NZ? (I must admit that though I’ve read some of your posts, if you’ve written that story, I haven’t happened upon it.)


  3. I left during the 90’s war … I wrote some short stories about it (under the Lantern’s stories category) and some poetry … but ‘the story’ is yet to come. Either I will write it, or it will write me (off -:)).

    Take Care and keep in touch (any time is good time)


    • I love your sense of humor.
      I have no idea, and can only imagine, that that must be a difficult story to relive enough to tell it.
      I will take a read through your stories tomorrow.
      Do have a good day (is it day for you already, right?). I’m up past my bedtime for the five measly hours I slept last night.
      Take care, and thank you again.


      • Thank you -:)! Yes, it is almost 3:00 pm on Sunday! It is sunny (winter is almost over), I am alive, it is peaceful … what more can one want -:)!

        Now nicely go to sleep … girl (even the young ones) need their beauty sleeps -:)!

        I am here (just across the bay really -:)) if you need me!

        Keep Well,


  4. I’m glad you’re content, but you don’t sound convincing that you’re as happy as you COULD be. You’re an awesome woman, so if non single life is something you want someday, I have no doubts you’ll find a great person. You’ll probably crash into Mr. Right while smoking a cigarette and scratching your uterus while driving near Atlanta, lol. Keep them legs shaved just in case.


    • I do not think I have reached my happiness potential yet, but I do know that isn’t dependent upon finding a life partner. I don’t believe in the “you complete me” idea of partnership.
      I’m not trying to convince myself that the status-quo is acceptable and relinquishing myself to the single life because there is no alternative. I’m not hand-down staunchly opposed to having someone and if I wanted someone, conceited as it will sound, I could go down the street to the local dive and come home with someone to fill the space. But filling the space only makes the subsequent emptiness greater.
      And…I have a feeling if I do meet someone, my legs aren’t going to be schick-smooth.


    • Even when I had a second set of hands to help put the sheets back on the bed, I put them on by myself (even while in labor because the ass couldn’t be bothered to leave his desk).


  5. I’ve posted this many times before but it bears repeating. A very fine poem by Charles Bukowski:

    Oh Yes

    there are worse things than
    being alone
    but it often takes decades
    to realize this
    and most often
    when you do
    it’s too late
    and there’s nothing worse
    too late.


    • A fine poem by a fine poet.

      There is nothing worse than too late, except maybe too soon when one is not ready for the realization and is unable to fully accept and embrace it. I hope I’m not in either category. I don’t think I am.


  6. Pingback: The Remote, The Thermostat, and The Middle of the Bed | This Is My Corn

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