I asked some co-workers, “Do you sing more when you’re happy or when you’re sad?”
They each said “When I’m happy.”
I asked my boyfriend the same question. He said, “Happy.”
I said, “That’s what everyone has said so far. I sing more when I’m sad.”
He said, “Why?”
“Because singing makes me feel better.”
And then I froze as a realization struck me, “Oh my god.”
He turned to look in the same direction, to see what had changed my expression so completely. “What?”
“That’s why I haven’t been singing for the past eight months: because I’m not sad!”
I finally have an answer to the question of why, after years of being devoted to writing songs and performing, I’ve had no interest in music since January: it’s because I’ve been dating Bob since January. This is happiness. Of course, it also means that for me happiness includes all the stress, gloom, depression and freaking out that I’ve done at various points over the last eight months (about employment, unemployment, Bob and life in general). But at some basic level, the fundamental flavor of my life seems to have shifted from sad to happy because I’m happy with Bob.
So back in my depressive, desperate manhunt days, I guess I was correct in my assumption that everything would be all right if I only had a boyfriend. Which is a bit disturbing since, in my more lucid lonely moments, I figured that obssessive assumption had to be distorted and incorrect. At least, I hoped it was.
Nope! It turns out having a man does make it all better. So much for Spinster Power.
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