Wait, I'm all alone? You're leaving me alone?

What will I do for sustenance? Who will laugh at my jokes? Where can I purchase nine cats and a good pair of slippers at this time of night? Does my butt look big in these pants? Please, I cannot proficiently judge the size of my own ass in the mirror, DOES IT LOOK BIG IN THESE PANTS?

No one wants to be alone.

There's a bunch of things you can't do by yourself, and well, it's just a bit sad, really, to be solo. 

{Look at me being all contemplative}

But if you try to avoid being on your own, surround yourself with people all the time, or hop from long-term boyfriend to serious snuggle-buddy to man-friend with benefits, then you're kinda missing out on what it's like to just be by yourself, to be content in yourself, and maybe even love yourself. You pervy weirdo.

I'm guilty as charged. A serial monogamist. And in the rare periods when I'm not monogamizing myself out like the committed, loyal, and loving whore I am, I've still got someone 'on the go' - you know, a prospect; someone I may date. There is always a boy.

The most recent, decent length of time I was 'single' (I wasn't going steady with anyone) took place when I was 17. From there I jumped head first into a four-year first-love epic that was replaced shortly after its end by a long-distance hot mess that I managed to hang on to for almost two years.

And then it ended. My solid 5+ year relationship frenzy ended. And I was faced with being single (and alone) for the first time in my adult life.

Well, suffice to say, it didn't take. In nine months, I only managed brief glimpses of proper solitary existence. I couldn't leave boys alone.

Nine months leads us up to yesterday. And yesterday, I reached the conclusion that I need to be all by myself. Seriously, this time.

Self-sufficient. Independent. Those are a couple of words I quite like, and that I would quite like to use in the context of a description of myself.

You know, maybe to replace 'good cuddler' and 'sexter' for a little while.

So, no boys. A little light flirting at the most. Nothing emotional. For a good chunk of time.

Consider me a nun. Just call me Sister Hannah. That's what my sister calls me, but you can call me that too, and then we can braid each other's hair and play Barbies. It'll be nice. No Boyz Alloud.