Single Lady meets Big Smoky City


What to do when single and alone in a new and relatively unknown city? This is the question I find myself asking. However, my problem here is not that I have to ask this question. Rather,the problem is my lack of care. I do not care that I am alone. I do not care that I am 29 and alone. I do not care that in my evenings I come home from a draining day at work to an empty bed. That I uncluter the morning clutter to make way for the evening clutter. Proceed to cook myself something vegetarian, because I am living on a student food budget with a proper job and also aware of environmental and ethical implications of meat consumption. I then sit in front of my laptop to regale in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, happy that at least I am not suffering from one of the many disasters that inevitably befall the ailing cast members that I have come to know and love like untenable best friends. Then to an uninterrupted sleep wherein I dream of whichever student is tormenting me the most. Year 9 you will not get the best of me!

So what to do about this predicament? Am I supposed to care that my evenings are spent alone. I live in one of the trendiest, hipsterish parts of London. Aren’t I suppoed to like go out and get friends who wear all black and sit in cafes with no signs in front of them because signs are like so capitalistic and right wing in our fancy million dollar house neighbourhood where we out priced those previous hoodlum tenants to something more befitting of their ilk (there’s no place like Essex).

So here I stand wondering where I get a jack thingy to build my electronic drum kit so that I can actually unpack my unsightly black bags and make this look like home. Thinking one day I will go to Wilkos and buy those storage boxes I so desire. Buy a rug so as not to acknowledge the tired, worn grey carpet the landlord thinks is acceptable ofor a £650 a month room. Alas! Instead, I get drawn in, by whatever dramas Grey’s has for me. Whatever escapism I can get on my lovely double bed. Inhabiting the pillow next to me, my book, for it has that space as it is the one thing that brings me down from my Grey’s high to the land of sleep.

Here lies, single almost thirty something female. Too lazy to text her tinder dates. For her whatsapp is only reserved for those she makes rave plans with on the weekends. Instead of looking for a husband so she can get knocked up before her ovaries stop working properly, she fills her time with racy American dramas, knowledge and sometimes the work she brings home. More fool her for not minding having the bed to herself. Does she have no shame?


But seriously, am really thinking there is something wrong with me. Must get on meetup group and meet similarly aged people who like doing civilized things and not raving themselves into early graves on the weekend and snogging younger guys they will never speak to again. Will get on Sharpish.


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