The Art of the Dry Spell

So, I’m in a dry spell.
And honestly, I don’t really know what to do with myself.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking–as owner and operator of all things #20SomethingProblems, I have written about my bad dates, lack of boyfriend, and dating shortcomings time and time again. These posts haven’t found me in any sort of successful relationship (except for the relationship I’m having with Ben & Jerry) so technically hasn’t my dating dry spell been forever long? Well, okay, yes, in so many words–kind of. But what I’m talking about goes so beyond the boyfriend dry spell that I can barely believe it.
For the first time in a long time (okay, since like February), I don’t even have the possibility of prospects on my side.
Nope, there ain’t a single soul vying for my attention.
I’m all alone on this vast blue planet and I kind of hate it. (And no, that wasn’t dramatic at all.)

Here’s the thing, just a couple of weeks ago, I had some stuff going on. There were men. Well, there was a man. A man and a half, really. Things weren’t exactly going great but I was holding out hope that maybe I was still on the train to Relationshipville. I had deleted all of my online dating apps. I was committed to never returning to the hell that is the first three dates. Y’all know what I’m talking about too–those first three dates where anything can happen and usually (in my case, at least) that anything includes a major ghosting or like, an awkward explanation of why we should just be friends.
 

But alas, that man and a half made his exit (with a highly original excuse. Kudos, my man. Kudos to you) and I was left with my phone in my hand (didn’t Taylor Swift write a song or two about this?). I’ll admit, I was sad. And I vowed to take a break from the dating scene for a while.
Which, of course, lasted about two whole days.

I don’t know about you guys but I’ve gotten to a point in my life where loneliness is kind of intolerable. That sounded hella depressing but hear me out. The thing is, I just want someone to share stuff with. And all the people I used to share stuff with have boyfriends or have moved away or are so busy that I can’t even talk to them all day everyday anymore (I know! How rude!). I’m not in college anymore. People have lives that don’t exist solely in one place, don’t revolve around friendships only. I’m lonely. And if I dig a little deeper, I am, of course, lonely for a very specific kind of something–the something that involves a boy and a girl and hand-holding and stuff.

So, I hopped back on OKCupid and re-downloaded Tinder (yikes, I know) and got down to biz. And I’m coming up empty-handed. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been propositioned to bang it out approximately 1000 times and the one guy (a mega-hot English dude who was totally out of my league) I was talking to (who called me devilishly beautiful–um, swoon and also gross) disappeared (literally disappeared–okay, totally just unmatched me) after I admitted to going to see One Direction–judge all you want mega-hot English dude. You’re not going to Drag Me Down.

So. Here I am twiddling my thumbs. I check the Cupe. I check Tinder. I weep heavily (just kidding). Rinse and repeat. I am solidly in a dry spell. And I think maybe I’m ready to accept it–maybe.

I’m not going to let this dry spell define me (As if it could. Come on, dry spell). Sure, it sucks to get literally zero texts a day (no, this isn’t an approximation–over the weekend I spoke to no living humans) but that’s the essence of dry spell. It’s like a love prohibition (and nobody’s even created any love speakeasies for me yet).

But as Thomas Fuller once said,  “It is always darkest just before the day dawneth.” (Yeah, I totally looked that up.) The art of the dry spell comes in accepting it, comes in waiting it out. Sometimes, some things just aren’t meant to be. And right now, a man (any man–especially that One Direction judging jackass) isn’t in my cards. I’m gonna do me. Not because I wanna (I don’t) but because I’ve gotta. And in truth, there’s something highly settling about doing stuff just because you have to do it. It teaches you patience. It allows you time to assess what it is you really want. It reasserts your own relationship with yourself. It sucks. It totally sucks. But it’s necessary. I’m thinking of it as a vacation from the anxiety that dating tends to induce. I’m taking a break and I’m going to come back cuter and more irresistible (so yeah, just mildly tolerable, really) than ever before. And when I do come back, it’s going to be so damn sunny out, I’m going to forget all about the dark that Date-Gate 2015 is currently creating.

Anyway, don’t they say Fall is the best time to fall in love?
Or is that Winter? Spring? (I know it isn’t summer. This isn’t Grease.)
No matter what it may be, I’ll be waiting–cute and funny and irresistible and wearing the One Direction t-shirt I’m totally getting at this concert tonight.
Take that, dry spell.