you may ask yourself "how did i get here?"

Sophie with fur, summer 2006.

Well, I'm on a roll, so I might as well keep going.

I seem to be having a bit of a midlife crisis. Or a late 30's crisis. Whatever it is - it's just that with my 38th birthday approaching in less than 20 days, I thought my life would be entirely different by this point. I expected I'd be married by now. Isn't that what everyone thinks? Except that most people usually get it.

If I would have known in my early 20's that I'd still be single now. . . well, I feel like I've let that 20-something self down. If I met her, I don't know what I'd tell her. "I'm sorry, 'me', I failed. There were two lines, one marked "husbands" and one for "other stuff." I figured I had plenty of time for the husband, so the Sagittarius in me skipped off to second line. I'm sorry. I got confused. There were bright lights and plane tickets and imported beer. I thought I had so much more time."

So I play this game. I'm hanging out on the couch in my stretched out t-shirt, flannel jammie bottoms, and cute new pink slippers, watching Dancing with the Stars, or something equally as meaningful. An angel appears and says, "Hark! I've come to take you away. Your life on earth is over. Come hither and followeth me to the light." And I would say, "Aw, crap! I never got to ______". Here's the game: what would I fill the blank in with? The first thing out of my mouth would be: "I never found the person who I had mutual love with. Who wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him. I never got married. I never got to experience a committed relationship."

The problem is that I miss this person, this soul mate guy. I physically miss him. I've never met him, yet I mourn not being with him. Every day that passes is another day not spent with him. And the days will add up and up and UP, and soon I'll be shriveled and spotty and toothless, rocking on my front porch, and this shriveled, spotty, toothless guy will come shuffling up the sidewalk and I'll recognize him. I'll cackle, "Hey, it's you! Where the hell have you been?" And then I'll die. Because I'll be like 107, and the shock of my soul mate actually appearing will be too much for my heart to handle. Our total time together will be about 32.4 seconds. And he'll hover over my limp, dead self, and say "Wow, this old lady has really big hair." This. This is what my life will turn out to be.

It has to be a midlife crisis. Right? Right? What the hell is wrong with me?