I spend many nights alone, drinking entire bottles of cheap, red wine and watching hours of British panel shows. Frequently, I'll find my hand in a bag of shredded sharp cheddar cheese or a jar of Nutella. On adventurous nights, I'll stumble outside with my headphones and take a walk while listening to some terrifically depressing artist like Coldplay or Glen Hansard. I'll feel incredibly introspective, although what is really running through my head is, don't run into that tree don'tlookdrunk don't fall over ohshit i've been walking ona diagonal this whole time.

More often than not, however, my evening will bewilderingly end with me chugging a glass of water while simultaneously sobbing my eyes out, a strangely cyclical process that I think could be a helpful real-life diorama to teach small children about the water cycle. Except I suppose the resonance of the diorama would be lost on most small children, who hopefully have no experience with the ridiculous emotional turmoil that follows a night of drinking heavily. Anyway, apart from its possibly educational value, I only share this disgusting, pathetic moment with with you because drunk and dehydrated is the only time that I ever feel like I want a boyfriend.

If I see couples holding hands, I just think about how sweaty my palms get and about how holding hands always feels like an obligation. What if you're holding hands in a grocery store buying something cute and couple-y like a baguette, and you want to veer suddenly and surreptitiously down the candy aisle to see if this Dominick's has the Reese's peanut butter cup chocolate bars (CVS on Broadway and Granville CHECK IT OUT) but you can't because you're attached to another human being?

If I see couples canoodling on the El, I just think about how glad I am that I can sit quietly and read my book, which I know pleases me while at the same time doesn't disturb anyone else. This is surely a better situation than feeling obligated to return someone else's affection in equal part, hoping you're making them just as happy as they're making you but not more so, at the same time that you feel guilty for making other people watch this negotiation. Or, heaven forbid, be so obliviously in love that you don't even notice the other people around you getting increasingly disgusted with your low, sweet murmurs and soft caresses. I firmly believe that there is an unspoken contract on the El that everyone will be mutually annoyed, and those who laugh too loudly and smile too much are in breach of said contract and deserve to be punished.

If I see an old couple sitting in silence over their yellowy-white breakfast at a busy diner, I just think about -- well, I don't even need to continue with that one. We all pretend to think it's cute, when really we all pity them, which is a bit ridiculous, especially for those people who are coupled themselves. Pity is an emotion that comes when you look at a person or a situation from which you feel removed. And for couples, if they've really committed, feeling removed from a future situation where, after thirty-five years of marriage, you sit across from your partner and have nothing to say is just fooling yourself. So, while we all may say "aww" and scoot ourselves a little closer to whomever we're with, what we're really thinking is "thank god, that'll never be us." Sorry. It will be. Which is why when I see an old couple, I have an overwhelming urge to cut all romantic ties and live as a hermit in the moors of England.

But, for whatever reason, when I'm under the faint twinkly lights in my bedroom, empty wine bottle on the floor and a pile of Hugs wrappers as a pillow, I clutch at my aching heart and wonder why there's not a pair of broad shoulders with strong forearms (in my wildest fantasies, these shoulders and arms would be attached to a person, a man, who has a quiet sense of humor and a love for 8 out of 10 Cats) stroking my hair and telling me I'm pretty and worthwhile. Is this some deep seeded need that I've spent years repressing, dredged up by the ever-revealing alcohol? Or is it just silly histrionics that I enjoy playing out because I've seen too many romantic comedies? 

Maybe I just need to drink more water.