All the Good Guys Are Gone

Or they are for me, at least.

Photo by Yoab Anderson on Unsplash

The clock ticks, ticks, ticks.

It mocks me every time I glance at the time — at home, at work, even in the cocoon of weaving webs of words for another day.

The numbers change, but I feel like I stay the same, stuck in a place where all I know is the monotony of a settled life. My life is not sad, but I often feel sad regardless of all my blessings. To the outsider, it would seem that I finally have a piece of that great pie in the sky known as a stable existence.

But things upset the balance all the time. If my boss says a stern word to me, I crumble inside. If a friend lashes out at me on a bad day, I have the urge to curl into a ball and cry. If my family tells me I have nothing to be unhappy over, I feel like an ungrateful child who can’t see beyond the present moment of wanting.

These days, though, my careful tightrope walk of life has been disrupted by a familiar concern to mull over.

Yes, I’m talking about boys.

What gives?

You might be familiar with my essays on relationships (most of which fizzled before they ever had ground to stand on), and you might have noticed I’ve been silent on the topic as of late. You might even think, “Hey, maybe she’s gotten her…