@Niko Bellic Nah, I don't agree. I mean, your logic is flawless, but I know a few writers who are sheer genius on the page who still talk in circles about their emotional obstacles to writing. And honestly, (unrelated) "uniting around the common goals of having adventures" (see above) is maybe one of the most boring fucking conversations I can imagine, possibly because I don't like uniting, having common goals, or going on adventures. And even back when I did like those things (and tripping my face off as well), I still tended to grow bored, bored, bored with the adventurous uniter types who did them. Yes, truly, I am a lazy, negative shut-in. "Lazy Negative Shut-Ins, Don't Unite!"
I talk to people to avoid thinking abut my failed professional writing life. Maybe I'm lucky to have a failed personal life and a magic hat of crazy-ass trivia to talk about but also it seems to me that talking about writing is like talking about sex; a repetitive and vaguely pathological substitute of the most unsatisfying sort. Masturbation is Hyperion to yapping's satyr. Write, write high or write low, or don't write at all but for god's sake don't talk about writing.
Favourite movie of all time. Still have the VHS.
@Subway Suicide@twitter Can attest to being a married-with-kids person and being jealous of my single friends (and not just a little). And ummm, there is not much single-batch bourbon being served in Mason jars or reclaimed wood going on, either. Things do not look like a Sundance catalog on this side of the fence.
Also, that free-floating anxiety about aging is not just for singles! I am in my 40s and think constantly (OK, maybe not constantly, but a lot) about how my 20s and 30s are gone and about being invisible to men. I know, it's different -- I am not trying to attract a mate, my husband loves me, but I still FEEL it.
And yeah, right on on the advice to break up with that guy. A one-year hiatus? Ugh, and then what?
Upper lip hair - SHE'S AWARE AND SHE DON'T CARE
@Amanda Webber@twitter Pretty sure all normal, human women have some very light "fuzz" on their cheeks/lips. Those who don't are either a) very young or b) lying. I think this guy probably just needs to get up close to more real women, because I'm betting this "moustache" is the same tiny light mammal-hairs most women have.
@Hiroine Protagonist Really hits the nail on the head. LW1, How can you expect anything to look right to you only four months into your freedom? Try to be nice to yourself first. If you keep doing that for a while (minimum: one year!) you'll eventually figure out which things feel right FOR YOU. Who cares what other people are doing?
I'm a 40+ single lady living in a certain overdocumented neighborhood of Brooklyn, too, and I can sympathize with being annoyed with the "shallow" youngsters (in quotes because obviously I was just as obnoxious at 25) crowding up the dive bars with their Jaeger shots and their faux nostalgia. But when it really gets to me, I go home to my well-appointed grown-up apartment and do my own thing. But that's me! Your results may very. You need to figure out what it means to do YOU.
I'll also throw this out there: I have a bunch of married-with-kids friends and some longterm coupled friends too. And most of them are at least a little jealous of my swinging single lifestyle. I would be too if I had to deal with cranky toddlers or recalcitrant spouses. BUT I TOTALLY DONT HAVE TO. I just worry about me.
Single over 40 is not for the faint of heart, surely. But it can be a hell of a lot of fun. Eventually. First, though, definitely break up with that guy.
4 months into a separation? You're in Break Up Land. Do self care and worry later. After a 13 year relationship? Woof. If it's over, cut the cord and try to start moving on. This isn't about age, really, is it? It's that you have to re-design your entire life and you don't remember what it looked like before.
Oof, you're in a tough spot, LW2.
For what it's worth, if someone with whom I'm romantically involved were to tell me that I have distracting facial hair, I would probably, realistically, sob myself to the point of dehydration. I mean, you can't help that this bothers you, but tread very carefully. Very.
By My Number Is My Address on Your Street Probably Smells Like Semen Right Now—But It Might Not Next Spring