I love living alone. I never feel lonely. I am selfish and self-absorbed, so it suits me. Nobody to have to consult with, nobody to have to negotiate or compromise with, nobody to get in my way. I do what I like when I like. Watch tv at 3 am, sit around all day Sunday in my pajamas, leave clothes hanging on doorknobs, or in piles on the floor if I feel like it. Eat, don't eat, cook something yummy for dinner, or nibble on leftovers standing at the sink. Whatever I feel like doing. Clean house, don't clean house, whatever I feel like doing. Company coming? Then I clean house. Just me and the cats? They don't mind the dust, neither do I.
I am not lonely. I don't have a man in my life, and don't feel the need. I'm 51 years old, a confirmed old bachelorette, and likely to remain so (to paraphrase Henry Higgins).
And yet the prospect of surgery and of lengthy recovery without anybody to help - well, who knew. Serious illness wasn't something I was thinking might be a possibility. Who thinks about that? I never did.
Ah well. What can you do? This has been my path, and I wouldn't change a thing. I'm a proud old spinster and I'll manage somehow.
Me and Kate Hepburn. Yeah right.