This is 36.

Today was my 5th morning of cycle monitoring. There was no sleeping in for me this past weekend; I was up and out the door shortly after 6am both mornings.

One of those mornings brought about my birthday. On Sunday I turned 36.

36: the age when you become closer to 40 than to 30.

36 and single.

Single.

One word, only two syllables. Yet it carries the weight of a wet rag.

Oxford Dictionary defines it as, first and foremost:

Only one; not one of several

‘A single red rose.’

The synonyms of single are listed as one, one only, sole, lone, solitary, isolated, by itself.

Not a single (ha!) one of those words comes off positively. At least not to me.

The word has become a status more than the way to describe one. It’s a heavy label; some people drag it around behind them like a ball and chain. And, it’s often perceived as a negative; that we’re lacking, either of an actual partner, or something in ourselves to snag one.

I often feel like society has forgotten that first definition, and replaced it with, most frequently, “without a partner”. Granted, that is also one of the definitions listed, but it is not its origin.

A long, long time ago, in our galaxy not so far away, before modern day technology coupled with laziness butchered the English language (Shakespeare would be appalled), single simply meant not married. Nowadays it seems to mean anyone who isn’t in any kind of relationship. So what happens if you’re neither single, nor married, but also not living together (a determination required for common law status). What box do those people tick off on information forms?

Why are we shoving each other into descriptive boxes all the time?

It’s a characteristic one holds that seems to trump all others. I’m not often asked if I’m enjoying my life, if I’m happy, or even if I’m actually lonely.

No, I’m usually asked the infamous So, are you seeing anyone? Or, Met anyone yet?

Yet. As if there’s an unspecified implied time in which one must meet their life partner… that deadline would be death, I’d imagine, so fingers crossed I still have time!

Yet. As in still. Yup, still single. Thanks for asking. I had almost forgotten.

Are you still married? And are you still with that major asshole we all pretend to like?

Now, I know it’s out of nothing but love and genuine interest in my life that I’m asked this question, but it becomes a tiresome diatribe. When I meet the one who complements me (not completes, thanks, because I complete myself), I’ll send out a memo. Or maybe rent one of those skywriter airplanes.

36 and single?

More like 36 and still refusing to settle.

So, this evening my solo self will eat cereal for dinner if I’m so inclined. I’ll watch whatever I want on TV, then go to bed and sleep starfish diagonal, sans the sound of anyone snoring.

Then tomorrow morning I’ll walk my LH-surging, 36-year-old self into the clinic at 9 am for attempt number two.

Should I have success, I won’t be solo for much longer.

So for now I’m going to enjoy every single second of it.