Life has been rolling along at the usual pace. Work, sleep, eat, and write. My day job has been overwhelmingly busy. I've been sucked into watching Netflix hours on end and writing reviews on Popcorn Entertainment. The shows fill my needs rather than the current ones on TV and give me a safe amount of allotted romance. If I overdose, I tend to cry.
Nevertheless, thinking about my single life has evened out to acceptance. My desire to find love at this point in life has pretty much died a slow and painful death. I'm so set in my life, my work, my writing, my new condo, and my cat, that I can't think of anything else. I've pretty much abandoned this blog, except for a few occasional check-ins, and put my attention on other writing like my books and other blogs. Frankly, my desire to become a best-selling author consumes me more than finding a husband at this point in life. It's just the way things have become.
It reminds me of my post long ago about the frog in the pot. You know the story, stick the frog in a pan of water, bring it slowly to a boil, and the frog never realizes it's being slowly killed off. I guess after 14 years of singleness, I'm cooked.
That doesn't mean, however, that I don't care about the singles that come to my blog looking for answers to loneliness. On the contrary, I so relate to each one of you. I think my age has a lot to do with my situation as well. I'm 63 now. My youth has fleeted. My family has grown. My chance for a romance when I was young and good looking has faded away into the past. It's just the way things are. Life marches on and the seasons of your life change with it.