The more hysterical sectors of the media may view ‘sterile’ female singleness as a plague, ‘feckless’ male loneness as an infantile indulgence.
It certainly feels that way to me. I’ve been single since I ceased briefly cohabiting in 2008. Some argue I am never that single because I ‘see’ people and have lovers.
I feel that the definition can only be my own; the idea that single life is sexless or relationshipless is an anachronism.
I live and work on my own, I take responsibility for myself, and I have not chosen publicly to connect myself with anyone else during this time. Ergo, I am single.
Moreover, despite having been a textbook serial monogamist in the years preceding this first and last cohabitation, there’s always been something singular-yet-social about me.
An introvert with extrovert capacities, I am the oldest of a messy family whose door frequently had to remain shut for sanity’s sake.
The idea of pregnancy gives me the willies since my personal life would be so visibly exposed. And I view all inquiries about the specifics, rather than abstract aspects, of said personal life as gross impertinence.
Living alone can certainly present practical problems. Last autumn I almost came a cropper when I was too ill and confused to summon an ambulance.
The bin bags piled outside my flat are becoming a health risk while, when a visiting lover or brother makes me a cup of tea, I am near hysterical with gratitude.
Being pensionless and renting, I do think about the future, and am actively encouraging a moneyed friend to sponsor some sort of commune on the model of Amsterdam’s 106-apartment Begijnhof building, only smaller and with comrades of both genders.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/9930325...Betts.html
It certainly feels that way to me. I’ve been single since I ceased briefly cohabiting in 2008. Some argue I am never that single because I ‘see’ people and have lovers.
I feel that the definition can only be my own; the idea that single life is sexless or relationshipless is an anachronism.
I live and work on my own, I take responsibility for myself, and I have not chosen publicly to connect myself with anyone else during this time. Ergo, I am single.
Moreover, despite having been a textbook serial monogamist in the years preceding this first and last cohabitation, there’s always been something singular-yet-social about me.
An introvert with extrovert capacities, I am the oldest of a messy family whose door frequently had to remain shut for sanity’s sake.
The idea of pregnancy gives me the willies since my personal life would be so visibly exposed. And I view all inquiries about the specifics, rather than abstract aspects, of said personal life as gross impertinence.
Living alone can certainly present practical problems. Last autumn I almost came a cropper when I was too ill and confused to summon an ambulance.
The bin bags piled outside my flat are becoming a health risk while, when a visiting lover or brother makes me a cup of tea, I am near hysterical with gratitude.
Being pensionless and renting, I do think about the future, and am actively encouraging a moneyed friend to sponsor some sort of commune on the model of Amsterdam’s 106-apartment Begijnhof building, only smaller and with comrades of both genders.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/9930325...Betts.html