I had been living with my head in the clouds, nay, in a fog, if you will. I was worried about this loneliness that kept creeping in at night. The empty other half of my bed that he used to share.

Sometimes I’d even go so far as to feel lonely when at the table with all of my other coupled friends, and me as the 9th wheel. Sure, we’d made plans for the summer, heck, even the next summer, and he abruptly changed his mind and left. Sure, I would look around and think about how shitty it was to go home alone at night.

But then one day, it happened. My married friend bestowed upon me her sage wisdom over brunch one Sunday. Apparently, her husband Tod had drank all of her favourite Welch’s pom-cran cocktail earlier that morning. Little did Tod know, his thirst would lead to a life-changing realization for me. “Enjoy your single life” she whispered as though she were some kind of ethereal goddess, sent to remedy my dumb, naive ways.

This whole time I had been looking for companionship when I should have been enjoying the incessant swipe-filled screen of my dating life. I flashed back to countless first-and-only dates only to be reminded of how I should have enjoyed their boring monologues about their guys’ trips to Muskoka.

It was right then and there that I really decided to start living my life. Fueled by a fear of living a life where you come home to someone every night, actual companionship, support, and loving, but reliably hot sex, but most of all a fear of a home where some monster could drink all of your Welch’s pom-cran cocktail – I finally started to live.

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