Theres a man on the corner, selling dozens of bones.

I wonder, is there a guy equivalent to a spinster? Or is a spinster a non gender thing anyway?
I mean....can I be a guy, who ends up alone, with embarassing Tesco receipts and a house full of cats?
To be honest, it doesn't sound a bad idea to me at all.

There's this horrible assumption, that people who are alone after reaching a certain age, well, there must be something 'wrong' with them. It's a totally unfair assumption. It's an ugly blanket statement. It's a little like saying that once people get married, their sex lives wither away.
I am, however, broken.
Well, maybe not so much broken, but certainly a mis-build. A 'second'. A defective. So I guess I'm quite happy to be labelled as 'there must be something wrong with this guy'. Because I can't deny it.

I crave my own space. My own time.
Being with another person is wonderful, of course. It's silly to think otherwise.
I do need me time though. It's essential.
I'm desperately in need of some me time right now.

Frustration is hanging in the air. I think I might have to throw one out, just to relieve some tension.

Nope, somehow the blogger page just isn't cutting the mustard with me.

And why has the redesigned Blogger post widget not kept the spellchecker?! Soooo frustrating. Some people really relied on that (read me!), and who knows how people cope when they do the obligatory drunken posts! It's crazy, I tell thee!