my time is mine

I hear stories on a daily basis and they're filled with drama. Men and women come together, create drama then separate (either for the afternoon or forever) and disperse their dramatic woes onto the world.

When a coworker tells me how her man doesn't pick his socks off the couch I sort of smile. The only socks on my couch are my own and I put them there. When my friend tells me that her man snored so loud she left their bed, I breathe easy. The only one leaving my bed is my pushy cat and it's at my request.

I'm learning to enjoy my own drama. My stories are about me, laughing and complaining about myself. The questions I pose are inescapably my own.

Soon enough I'll have a partner to complain about. I'm sure it will happen just as I get comfortable with leaving my own socks on the couch. When I become content with the cat sleeping on my head. Why did I ever feel rushed?