I’ve probably made a mistake, but I never learn from my mistakes so every choice is a new, poor decision. I’m pretty sure that I’ve repeated these errors, but I keep coming back. It’s official. This Sex, Love, Food, Chicago girl is monogamous. I’m not happy about it. I think I’m probably missing out on something. Or someone. Or some experience. Or some time frame. Or some greater understanding, but when a pretty man demands that I be solely his, I can’t deny him.

I love men. I love them as they flex their strength from behind. I love men as they move me across a bed, I love men as they adore my body. I love men as they respect my opinion. I love men as they furrow their brow because they’re learning. I love men.

For the rare occasions that I allow a man to enter my commitment, there is an innate need. However, I’ve let this guy in, but I don’t feel like before. I don’t need him. What’s interesting is that he may stick around because I won’t tire of his banality.

Somehow, it’s Thursday night and the masses are celebrating. Men clink their coozies to financial successes. Women gossip over manicures because of pregnancies or promotions. I don’t want either.

Is it that time of the decade when everyone finds their “partner”? Probably not. There’s few moments where everything and everyone comes together in honor of the inevitable loneliness.

I guess, there is regret for losing my single state, but not enough penance to truly understand falling asleep underneath down feathers alone. Every. Weekend.

That’s where I’m at. Where are you at?