Sunday nights were reserved for casual sex, at least until recently.

Sex Friend would come over once a month or so. My dogs would drool on him for five to ten minutes. We'd go out for sushi. Then we'd return to my apartment and retire to my bedroom for approximately half of an hour before Sex Friend would get up, dress and return to his place of residence. I would then shower, take the dogs for their final walk of the day and turn in for the evening.

It was simple. Beautiful even.

It gave me the time and the space I needed to do other things... Like the guy who lived on the third floor… And knitting. I also took up knitting.

I was happy, until I realized that I wasn't actually happy at all.

It happened one Sunday when Sex Friend fell asleep after sex. I laid there next to him quietly for several minutes and began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Sex Friend was not supposed to fall asleep in my bed. Sex Friend was supposed to get up and leave my bed almost immediately after sex so that I could fall asleep in my bed.

And then it hit me: what if Sex Friend wanted to spend the night?

I did not want Sex Friend to spend the night. I wanted Sex Friend to go home. To his home. And I did not want to have any contact with Sex Friend again for the next several days.. If not weeks.

And so, ever so sweetly, I nudged Sex Friend in the ribs and told him he had to get up because it was time for me to take the dogs out.

Sex Friend rose without complaint, dressed and headed for the door. "I'll text you later," he said as I closed it behind him.

I walked over to my couch and dropped down onto it. All week I had been craving human contact. All week I had been experiencing an overwhelming urge to lay somewhere, anywhere, with another person and talk. Or watch a movie. Or do something. Anything.

You'd think that my time with Sex Friend would have satiated that desire. It didn't though. Instead, the yearning only increased in intensity and I was left wondering what was wrong with me.

"I think I am destined to be alone forever," I told the dogs. Hudson took this as an invitation to lick my knee and drool on my foot. "Thank you," I told him insincerely. But Hudson does not understand sarcasm, so he wagged his tail and licked my knee again with even more enthusiasm.

I am generally so content to be in my own company that I tend to forget how much I miss interacting with others. Though I love people, there are very few I can be around without feeling entirely drained afterwards.

And so, still deep in thought, I grabbed a wool blanket from out of my Deacon's bench and proceeded to curl back up on my couch to reflect on life. I knew I wouldn't be seeing Sex Friend again, and I found myself supremely uninterested in the idea of locating a replacement for his role in my life.

And that raised its own questions. What was it that I actually wanted out of life? And who, if anyone, did I want it with?

The answers did not materialize after several minutes of pondering, so I decided to get drunk and have spent most evenings since doing much of the same.

I would not say that I am depressed, but I would not say that I am happy either. 


Just wrote this free form poem (based on real life experience)

Crazy drunk man,
Singing and yelling
In the parking lot
Outside my window.
I wish you'd stop.
I need to go to bed now.
Who are you even talking to?
You are so loud.