I’m experiencing a maudlin moment.

I lost two longtime friends last week.

I didn’t lose them, per se.

I, unfortunately, know where they are but, died is such an ugly word and conjures up such morose thoughts.

She died.

The flowers died.

Our love died.

My ovaries died.

The passion died.

He died alone.

I was so embarrassed I could have died.

I am so depressed I could just roll into a ball and die.

And, God forbid, in today’s world, my cellphone died.

Despite the 60’s, even tie dye is an unsightly term.

It dawned on me that I am just one degree of separation from being alone.

No, this is not a pity party.

When you are going on 38 years with the same mate and share so much, it is very difficult to imagine being a party of one.

Society frowns on it.

‘Oh, shame, you never married.’

‘Are you alone by choice?’

When you go to a restaurant why does the host inevitably say, “Just one?”

Ticket booth peeps always stammer, ‘One??’ with that questioning lilt.

I have no siblings, good friends are hard to come by and I certainly not going to ask my daughter if I can be her plus one for the rest of my life.

Don’t get me wrong.

I quite enjoy myself and relish alone time, but sharing time with someone you actually like and possess similar interests makes it more damn fun.

Last week’s turn of events evoked all these maudlin feelings.

Okay, it’s off my chest.

Thanks for the self-indulgence.

Now I am going to spend some alone time prepping for tomorrow’s colonoscopy.

That is an event only suitable for a party of one.