I turn 50 in 12 days. I’ve never cared about an age before, but this one has me wound up. All I have to say to myself is that I’ll be 50 and alone, and it’s hard not to cry. Why do I care? because it seems like if I’m alone now, I really might always be. And I’m not ready to face up to the idea that I might go through my entire fucking life never being in love. It just seems so unfair.

I’ve spent much of my alone time the last few weeks crying. Being single is weighing on me, and I’m tired of being alone. Tired of being alone at the holidays. Tired of being alone period.

Only three things make me feel better when I’m like this: sex, exercise and helping other people. I haven’t found a volunteer gig or a way to give back. I’m exercising some, but it’s not enough and with all my injuries, I’m pretty restricted. The beautiful boy has been busy — I truly don’t begrudge him it, but it doesn’t help me. G. has been busy. It’s not J.’s job to keep me sane.

So when C. texted me last night, I was all happy. He showed up sober this time. It’s been a while since that drunken night last month, but he worked the last 20 days in a row and then went to Florida. He came by to see me on his way home. Which, from my limited perspective, means he likes me. And wow, I really do like him. He’s happy and he likes to fuck. He likes to fuck me. And he likes to give me pleasure– he notices when I don’t come, and he cares, but he doesn’t push it if I won’t or can’t.

I really do know this is a relationship of convenience, and it’ll never be anything else, and I really do want something more. But right now, I’m happy again, and I love fucking that man.

The holidays are approaching and being alone for them makes me sad, again and always. It’s been 3+ weeks since I’ve seen G. and I know as the holidays arrive I’ll see him even less. The beautiful boy will fade, everyone will focus on whatever else they need to go do and I’ll be here, with my coupled-up friends, alone again. I am, truly, devastated. I never once thought I’d end up alone in life, and my little heart may very well break from the tragedy.

I am, truly, not the girl you take home to mom & dad. I am not the girl you date. I am the girl you call last-minute for sex, when it’s mutually convenient. I am never the girl who goes home for the holidays, goes to your corporate dinner party or even meets your friends.

Bad Annie went on a ‘real’ date yesterday and barely knew how to conduct herelf. After a chaste kiss goodbye I wasn’t sure if I’d failed somehow or if that’s how it’s supposed to go.

At this point in my life, shouldn’t I be able to be my true fulfilled self and still be able to be with a partner? WTF. I’ve been completely deceived.

I told J2 I had to go upstate and so I did — not because I had to but because I wanted to make the lie true. Yes, I’m over him. And… I feel a little bit like I’m cheating on G. when I see him. Even though G. and I are not to the point where that’s even a discussion, wtf. Though G. did text and ask for my address on Friday and so I’m pretty sure he’s sending something for Valentine’s and I’ve no idea what I think of that. I’m thrilled because I’ve never actually been dating someone on a Valentine’s Day who wanted to do that, and it seems kind of great to have my frist experience with that. But I”m terrified that it’ll be superficial and he’s sending six of them and I’m only one and it’ll take away from the meaning of it…. which of course he can’t even know. so wtf again.

and I’m reminded of KZ and breaking up with him because I was convinced I was one of the girls he had in every port. Was I right? wrong? how will I ever know?

Self-pity sucks and I’m trying really hard to indulge in it briefly now so I can put on a brave face later.

I think I need to stop dating all of these fuckers and try to find someone I actually want to be with. Sex is better than no sex, but it’s apparently also not only what I want at 46. Who knew I’d turn out to be such a fucking girl.

BadAnnie has enough health, relative wealth, and common sense to feel embarrassed by my occasional lapses into self-pity. I am lonely and I want a better job and to own my apartment and all kinds of things, but then I pass Our Lady of the Subway Tunnel, crazy and destitute, and a hundred other people a day who are worse off than I am and I wonder what right I even have to feel like this. I should be so lucky these are my problems.