I had a couple weird dreams last night. I've been fighting a miserable headache all week, and I'm blaming that on the randomness of them.
One involved an Amy Grant concert in which she didn't sing a single hit of hers. Everything really obscure.
The other had me marrying an old friend out of some sort of obligation. Oddly enough, I didn't really care that we weren't getting along or hadn't seen each other in years. When I woke up, I felt so lonely, as if this husband of mine had just disappeared into the abyss. I was half-expecting an e-mail from him today. It just felt so real.
I was going to try to pontificate on the single life (not quite an expert, but I have a lot of experience), when I came across this article. It's pretty much all I wanted to say, so just read it and pretend that I'm nodding along.
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I got so depressed reading the first paragraph of that article, I had to give up. (I will try to finish reading it later.)
Recently, a married friend, trying to be supportive I suppose, sent me this link to a Statistics Canada report on marriage.
It's in my bookmarks now, and I go back to read it once in a while. Usually when I'm lonely. It doesn't really give me any hope, but it is somewhat comforting, in a logical/mathematical/statistical/analytical/completely-void-of-emotions type of sort of way.
That's hilarious. Statistics as encouragement.
A couple years ago, I was hanging out with some relatives:
Grandma: I was 21 when I got married.
Aunt: I, too, was 21 when I got married.
Cousin: I was 21 too.
Everyone looks at me, 21.
Me: My mom was 26. Leave me alone.
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