Love is blind until you have to share the TV remote.
Technically I am not single but I do live separately from the other half, which gives me the delicious luxury of part-time solitude and part-time arguing over who gets the right side of the bed.
Solitude has many blessings, cleaning the toilet on your terms, dancing silly to any music you choose, owning the TV remote, and watching what you want when you want, even if you have seen it before.
And the bonus...
No one to witness the realization that you have just wasted an hour of your life watching something you didn’t enjoy the first time.
Tucking into whatever you want to eat in bed, not making the bed when you 'can't be arsed', and being OCD when you can...secure in the knowledge that it will stay that way-----forever.
Solitude also means dealing with spiders, which, as a vegan, gives you few options. Doing that glass thing-chucking them outside, or making friends, admiring their determination, cheering them on as they make it across the vastness of the spare bedroom wall, then ‘accidentally’ hoovering during your ODC phase.
Solitude also means having no one to blame when you’ve lost the TV remote or run out of toilet paper, and the worse ———-hitting the I just have to talk to someone phase…
A phase that usually arrives for me after the joy of eating whatever you want has worn off, the spider has pissed off and there is nothing worth the batteries in your remote to watch on TV.
I usually find myself loitering around the shop because I have “forgotten something”, talking way too much to shop assistants, the neighbor's cat, or dodgy drunks until they have had enough…and leave.
That is when I know I need to get out and make real connections.
Loneliness for me is not about being alone. It’s not about the lack of a rip-roaring social life or mountains of holidays, it has nothing to do with how many friends you have; well that’s what I tell myself.
For me, loneliness is about the lack of connection… the need to be heard and to listen.
Enter standup….storytelling….and the undivided attention of a room full of people, who just want to laugh.
All those faces have me so excited I’d wet myself if it wasn’t for the caste iron pelvis Bellydancing has given me.
The thought of it has me driving all over Scotland with my trusty Sat Nav. I like to call her she as she has made it possible for me to travel with confidence.
I am sure I’d be at home watching videos if it wasn’t for her. I even talk to it but don’t tell anyone.
There is an art to harnessing nerves when performing, which I found when I hit sixty. Before that, I spent my time waiting behind the stage like I was about to go to the dentist who didn’t believe in anesthetic. It is one of the reasons I took to writing, well, that driving everywhere without a Sat Nav.
A few weeks ago I performed along with a delightful bunch of people in Leith Edinburgh at the Open Comedy.
Every Tuesday night a bunch of comedians gets together at Artisan Roast in Leith to try out new material.
Giulia Galestro hosted the show she was worth the hour's diversion home in the car alone. She was witty, warm, and captivating.
Everyone’s story was different and funny I felt so welcome, sitting there, listening to the stories, it was inspiring, watching others take on life.
I told a story, a mixture of fiction and truth. The great thing about these events is the chance to make your story better, see what works, and get feedback.
A week later I performed at a Fail safe event in Dundee at, Innis & Gunn.
It is organized by an arts charity that believes in celebrating our failures which often t leads to greater things.
Kate Hammer a comedian in Glasgow compared the show and kept us all laughing.
Small venues give me that connection, that warm feeling that makes losing my TV remote not so dramatic, and worth getting out of my slippers for.
And one more thing if you would like to support a starving writer living on bread and water then feel free to buy me a coffee.