And that's the dude I turned The Rock down for. But rather than wallowing in misery and regret, I became a slut. Not a slut in the numerical sense, though. Let's just say, I lost any sort of cautionary discretion when it came to sleeping with someone before really getting to know them. Yes, even less discretion than cohabiting with someone within weeks of meeting. Put it this way: if I knew your name and you made me "tingle"... I was down.
What didn’t feel good about living alone was the chronic loneliness. I didn’t realize how pitiful “me, myself and I” could feel; especially without any diversion from my own negativity. What was wrong with me? Why did life still feel so bleak? I had made so much progress since the startling realization that I was 38, single, homeless and without a plan.
