Reasons Why I'm Single.

     I could make this blog so very short and simply say the main reasons I'm single are because no one wants to put up with me, I'm really mean, and I don't take orders. Those are all true, but I've decided to go into more detail about most of the reasons I have remained single since March 31, 1999.  Wow, when I see it in writing like that, I realize it's been a really long time since I've been in a relationship. (Look! I survived!) 😉

    Reason #1 (I shouldn't count them), and you all know it, is that I don't want to be in a relationship with anyone. I have too many people in my head now. If I had to add another man, a real man, into my daily conversations, I'd have to ask Nick, Ralph, Eoghan, Alistair, Elaine, Ama, Wilma, Stella, and all the others to stop talking. Those few are just from my Nick Posh books; what about Craig Allen MacKenzie? How would I ever truly explain my fictional lover-husband to a real lover-husband? Not happening. Craig doesn't eat the last slice of pie or throw his towels on the ground.

    There's a book out there about why spending time with a horse is better than spending time with a husband, and I could rattle off a few of those reasons now to make my point about not wanting to be in a relationship. The thing is, horses don't really care if you pet another horse, but you try that with a husband, and you're opening up an entirely different can of worms, for sure. Horses, as you know, listen to you when you're talking, and they listen to you when you're singing, too.  They don't tell your secrets "accidentally" to anyone, and they don't make you late for important things - but they do give you built-in excuses as to why you can't show up to some lame shower, party, or function.

    I'm single because I'm incredibly selfish. I love me so much more than I could ever trust someone else to love me, and I'm not about to start loving someone more than they every knew I could love them -only to be hurt, dumped, cheaped, ripped-off, and/or worse - no, those days, weeks, months, years, and decades are long long gone. I spoil me. I spoil me rotten; as rotten as I want to be spoiled, and I don't question my reasoning when I do. I just thank me, accept me for who I am, and I move forward. I like me - I get me. 

    A husband would not fit in my bed. It's simple Math. One full-size bed can fit me and my dogs, not a husband. I haven't tested the theory, but I'm more than confident about this one. I'm about to get a new puppy, who, thank God, is tiny, and will fit between my chest and the edge of the bed because frankly, there really isn't any other space for him. All the rest of the bed space is occupied from the moment I lie down until the moment I get up - and there's not a man on this planet whom I would trade my dogs for. (I'm also confident that any man would agree.)

    Lastly, and this is a good one - I'm single because I have plans to write, fix my house, ride my horse, and just chill. I am one of THOSE people who think the Rapture is soon, or soon enough, and I just want all the peace and quiet I can muster in these times of (End Times) feather ruffling and intolerant, complicated, constant upheaval we're facing at this time. I want to read. I want to write. I want to rest. I want to love my dogs, cats, horses, kids, and grandkids. I want to eat food without judgment. I want my stuff in my house, not anyone else's (unless I gave birth to them, I will concede to that).

    I want everyone to be happy, find Jesus, and wait on Him the way I do, and I'm just too old, fat, and grumpy to even try to impress. I won't wear makeup, I won't dress up, I won't go anywhere with anyone except my family and friends, and no, I don't need more friends. I'm good -- I'm really good. I'm in the best place I've ever been in my life, and because I simply never get bored, I'm able to keep the clock turning without feeling lonely or left out.  Again, how could I become lonely with all these people in my head jabbering away about what they're going to do, or should do, in my next book? Besides, I have a man -- he is my firstborn! You can't improve on perfection.