Savagely Single

I've been having some strange health problems that I'd attributed to currently taking 3 prescription medications, when I realized the other day that my problems are more likely tied to dehydration than anything else. I awoke Saturday and began chugging as much water as I could. I needed to get up and move around more and I feared that drinking water would take way too long to begin hitting my vital organs. As much as I hated to do it, I called the one person I hated to ask a favor of. Him. Mr. Armoire. Steve.
I hated the idea of making it sound like a favor, so I texted to ask if I could pay him to give me an i.v. of fluids. He responded that he did not have a set up of it, but asked how I was doing anyway. I responded that I was going well, and long story short, he told me that he'd had some issues he'd been dealing with, but his girlfriend helped him thru it.
Oh really, now?
So I responded by saying that I'm pretty much enjoying the single life and that I'm seeing multiple men. Now put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.

Yeah, he didn't respond after that lol. One of the things that I'd grown to dislike about Steven even when we were together was that tit-for-tat shit. Who wants to be in a relationship where they're constantly at war? I've certainly had enough of that from multiple men and I'll be damned if I'll entertain it again.
Not tooting my own horn here, but I believe that Steve felt a bit self-conscious next to a woman like me and he felt the need to one up me. And not to be tooting my own horn here either, but I'm the shit next to him, so good luck trying. But I wasn't with him because of competition, I was with him because we vibed well. His constant need of one-upping me when he fucked up (which happened multiple times) was draining.
So yeah, I'm one of those happily single people that you read about. I certainly have married people around me, but I can't say that I think they're all doing well. One of my friends I feel would be doing so much better if she weren't dragging her husband along who has only had spotty employment since I've known them since high school and one of my guy friends once confided that he strongly feels he'd be a millionaire right now if he hadn't married fresh out of high school. Now to be fair, I do feel that some of these couples I know are doing well, so not all marriage is a soul-sucking failure.
But after seeing the vast difference in my life between my life now and my life with my exes, I am more aware than ever that partnering with the wrong person can utterly destroy you and your potential.
The fact is that I'm currently seeing Ted on a regular, been really missing Fred lately so I've been calling him a lot, and there is a new guy sniffing around who is kind of an in between personality between Fred and Ted, who I'll call Eric. And I'm not overly tied to anyone! If they start to fuck up, I can just opt not to deal with them. No need to text back and forth and argue. No shouting matches. My money stays in my owned damned account and no one is out here fucking it up for me. Pretty kick ass, I think. I mean, perhaps I'm broken and unable to commit. Maybe its true. But you know what? I'm loving this shit!!

The Biology of A.D.D.

The cool thing about learning that I have A.D.D. is learning how much it impacts my overall functioning. I've learned to look more at how I organize things, my time management, how I function at work, essentially nearly my whole life. The crazy thing is how absolutely I was uninformed about ADD. I've known people who's children took meds for it and I never thought much one way or the other, but to now be in a place where I'm one of the ones who genuinely benefits from it is interesting.

I think what bugs me the most is when I announce to people that there is a reason behind my scatter-brained nature. They'll normally respond with "yeah, I think I have a little of that too." Its kind of infuriating. I mean, sure, I make it look like no big thing, particularly since I've managed to graduate high school, undergrad, and grad school, but the fact is that the non-functional part of my brain has held me captive since I can remember. I recall being young and how much my teachers were furious with my constant spacing out in school and how enraged my mother was that my grades continued to suffer, despite my clearly intelligent mind.

I recently sought out meds for this ailment and I surprised even myself when I began to cry when I explained to my nurse practioner how frustrating it is to have made peace with knowing that one day I will need to pay a cleaning person to clean my home as remaining focused on cleaning long-term and organization are things I simply cannot do. So when someone who has nowhere near the problems I have say "Yeah, I have a little ADD too" with no real history of it to back it up, other than occasional boredom, it ain't cool. People don't go "yeah, I have a little bit of cancer too" but with ADD, people feel okay just downplaying it.

I was made aware of just how much of a thing this is for me when yesterday, as I visited my doctor for a follow up (diabetes AND weight is down- yes!!) and I informed him of the Adderall that I am currently taking, in conjunction with my diabetes meds. My doctor tried to tell me that my diagnosis is not ADD and that I don't need medication. His theory is based on the fact that "children with ADD fight a lot and don't listen to people." Say what now? I explained that he really described ODD (oppositional defiant disorder) but he disagreed. So yeah, I guess that my years in the field don't mean shit of knowing the difference between the two.

Next was my father, a licenced clinical psychologist, who informed me that rather than taking meds, I "just need to focus more." Really dad?! Word?! He's well aware of my years of struggling in school, yet he tells me I just need to focus more. Shit, if I could focus, I wouldn't need the damned pills to begin with! Looking online shows multiple sites that show that ADD is not real. I agree, perhaps everyone that has problems is not ADD. But that doesn't make it not a real thing.

A few days ago, I'd had a conversation with a girlfriend of mine where I casually shared with her that I'd been prescribed some hydrocodone some years back for some pain or another, but it had absolutely zero affect on me. I'd actually kept the bottle with one pill left (cuz, ya know, why not?) when it disappeared around the same time some family visited me... But I digress, that same pill sat in that bottle forever. My friend said to me, "man, its crazy how ADD really does impact the brain like that and make different people respond to different things." I'd never even thought about it, but she was right. Just like how because of ADD too much caffeine puts me to sleep. Just for confirmation, I read up on the link between hydrocodone and ADHD, and indeed, it actually helps some people with their symptoms.

So I guess this, like many other things are just my cross to bear. But I'm okay with it because now I can seek answers to and start being a better version of myself. Isn't that all any of us can ask?

Welcome to the Club, I'm Sorry You're Here

Friday when I left work was like most others. Relaxing and decompressing in my car, when I finally got around to calling back my friend, Clarence. Clarence and I go back a few years, he's a good guy. Since he's an avid comic book guy, we chatted it up about the newest Spiderman movie, Spiderverse. And yes, it is one of the greatest movies ever, no debate here. I rambled about work for a few, then I went on to ask him about the ladies in his life. Ya know, any prospects kind of convo.

But Clarence caught me off guard, sharing with me that he'd began living with a young lady that he'd known some years back. She told him that she'd had brain cancer. I shared my apprehension, but he said it was all good. Things had been going along well and he was hopeful. He whispered to her that she was going to make it and that they'd soon have beautiful brown babies together.
She died right before Christmas.

Clarence stated "yeah, it was tough, but I'm cool." Except, I know he's not. He's a part of that same fucking club. I don't know if its age or what, but it keeps holding us hostage. Its like a timeshare in the worst way. I told him a bit of my story of losing Pete and how I still cry frequently. How things like a beautiful sunset or a song will still do me in. How I felt like a piece of my arm was missing and how I struggle to feel normal.

I told Clarence that the fact is, you never feel "normal" again, you just learn to live with the pain. I even confessed to Clarence, that when he and I went to see DeadPool 2 together, during the scenes where DeadPool is communicating on the other side with his dead girlfriend, I wept so hard during the movie. Because I know that deep feeling of "please just let me be near you one more time."
Clarence then admitted that he'd never cried so hard after she passed away. He said "I cried until my eyes hurt. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore." Its kind of interesting how when you don't want to bore people with your story, or sound like a nut, or make a situation all doom and gloom with death talk, you kind of clean it up for your audience. But only with other "club members" can you let out how hollowing the feeling is of losing someone you love.

Clarence and I talked a bit more about the whole thing, as I tried to offer some words of encouragement. As the conversation wound down, Clarence ended it by saying that he had to go. But I know in my heart that as soon as we got of the phone, Clarence began crying again. And as soon as we got off the phone, I began crying again too.

More

So I can't help but to notice that I'm blogging more lately. We're only 11 days into the year and I'm already on my 6th blog. To be fair, I don't anticipate continuing to drop a blog a day, but my inability to focus, coupled with an available computer, and racing thoughts continue to lead me back here. I can't help but to reflect on the fact that a few years back, after some shit with my son's father (although, to be fair, the whole relationship was shit), I'd almost stopped blogging. There were certainly times that I stepped away. After grad school I had to practically dust the cobwebs off of this thing.

I think what has led to my increase in blogging is pretty simple though- I'm happy. I mean seriously, probably for the first fucking time in my adult life, I'm actually freaking happy. No man stressing me out, no family fights, my bills are (relatively) paid. I guess I'm writing so much just to soak all of this up. After years of depression, struggle, anxiety, poverty, low self-esteem, and heartbreak, I'm finally at this point and I'm just fully wrapping my mind around it all. As I write this, even my jeans are getting a bit too big. The same damned scale at work that continued to taunt me with 200 lbs for months finally gave in and budged me to 197. And holy shit, yesterday, it even said 195!!

I continue to look forward to my vacation summer where I will spend time with Fred, followed by a visit from my international friend. Early in the year, I reached out to a friend of mine to share my apprehension regarding going into 2019. I told him how amazing 2018 was, followed by how tragic 2017 was. My fear was that after 2018 was the best, it would soon be followed by more tragedy. I mean, after finally being given a life to be happy about, the last thing I want is to experience again what 2017 did. Guy I like died, broken foot, fired for something I didn't do, forced to work at Petsmart under a raging cunt just to keep my bills paid, and later landing a job in my field that continued to pay me late on top of underpaying me? The only thing that kept me on this planet was knowing that if I took myself out, my son would spend the rest of his life a basket case. I just can't do that to him. Enter 2018 and now 2019.

So I guess I'll have to accept that all of life is not shit and that I can finally be happy. I mean, I made it, I'm here. Yay.

Influence

The scale at work finally showed mercy and dropped my weight to under 200 lbs. I'm now at 197, a first since September. Thank God, I did 3 miles on Saturday and 3 miles on Sunday, in addition to scaling my diet back tremendously. I'm actually okay with this. I'm not hungry, and if I get hungry, a few almonds, pistachios, or an apple tend to do the trick. Too damned cold to work out though. At least for now. My blood sugar dropped by 30 since yesterday, so I'm on track for a comeback. I actually enjoy health food and I think this may have to be a new way of life for me.

When I first met Ted, about 4 years ago, he was all belly. He was adamant about his refusal to work out. The only working out he was interested in was of a sexual nature, which, truth be told, I was more than okay with. He is the heaviest guy I've been with, registering around 280 at his heaviest during our time together. But then one day during the summer, Ted started working out.

I mean, Ted and I have shared our mutual desire to lose weight (although he prefers me heavier), but he, much like myself, would always fall back into bad habits. But not this time. Ted has lost over 50 pounds. I'm amazed watching this transition. I complimented the jeans I last saw him in and said "oh my God! No more dad jeans!" He laughed and shared that apparently those jeans brought about a loud chorus of people that saw them and remarked on his now-too-big dad jeans. I keep telling him that I have to definitely lose weight now because I can't have him being the only slim hottie between us. I mean, this man works out 2 times a day, and it seems like 80% of the time when I call him, he's in the gym.

Its so funny to me that Ted and Fred (again, complete coincidence their names rhyme) managed to be so on top of their weight. I mean, true, men lose fat quicker than women (due in part to their muscle tone). Fred isn't a case of weight loss though. He was a high school all star, pretty much excelling in any sport he tried. Fred and I often visited Whole Foods and shared a love of their vegan chocolate cake.

Moving forward, I certainly wish he was close by to help me kick this into gear. After I gained my weight back previously, I knew that I'd eventually lose it again. And as much as I resent that I put it back on, I was always thankful for the experience of regaining the weight, because it showed me firsthand how simple it is to fall back into bad habits. Sometimes we need people to keep us inspired to do our best. I'm so blessed to not just have one or two people, but a boatload of people to inspire me to stay my best.

Graduate school was a difficult time for me. Sometimes I feel like I made it look easy, but that shit was rough!! I saw more politicking, backbiting, hunger, misery, and utter disrespect than I've seen in any portion of my life while attending a historically Black university. I was moved to start a food pantry that serves Morehouse, Clark, and Spelman, and so help me God, it was a doozey.

What amazed me was that shortly after I finished, I'd had 4 separate people tell me that I'd inspired them to go to school. Word? Me? One is currently finishing up her bachelor's degree, while the other is my ever-so-hardheaded mentee who I've been working with since she was in 7th grade. She should be a sophomore in college now.

As I look at my recent health challenges, and my renewed faith that I can overcome this, I guess I'm reminded how much we're all connected in trying to find someone to influence us. Sometimes we inspire, sometimes we need the inspiration. That's okay with me.

To Tell or Not?

My uncle, my mother's brother, recently had some serious health problems. Its pretty bad. My cousin does an amazing job of taking care of his father, but watching this has me nervous on so many levels. I told my stepmommy and father that if it came down to it, I'd take care of them, no matter what. But watching a parent get old ain't easy. My cousin tried dearly to handle the pressure of it all, but no one else in my family was aware of just how sick my uncle is. Plus my cousin needed money, because taking care of his father takes away from his ability to run his business. I did what I felt was the right thing and began calling my family to really illustrate how my uncle/their brother/their uncle is. They were shocked. They genuinely had no clue.

Despite how I feel about my mother, I even called her. I dunno, part of me was hoping that my family would toss in some coins for my cousin (lord knows they can spare it), plus I guess I also kind of felt like at the end of the day, your family should be the first to know and show up if you're in bad shape. It was the strangest and shortest of conversations, but I communicated what needed to be said. "Your brother is sick and in Atlanta. He's not doing well." And that was my first time talking to my mother in roughly 3 and a half years. Damn, I'm going to make some therapist rich one day. While visiting my cousin and uncle recently, my cousin shared with me "your mom is going to visit soon and she's bringing your sister with her." I'm pretty sure the stupid smile plastered across my face illustrated my feelings. Fuck. Fuckity, fucking, fuck.

My feelings had nothing to do with my mother, it was moreso at my disgusts about my mother bringing my sister to visit my sick uncle. I mean seriously, why bring that bitch? The fact is that my sibling got into some legal trouble and my uncle was kind enough to help her out of it, and then she later destroyed some property that my uncle had to foot the bill for. My uncle let her know that he was unhappy with her shenanigans, and rather than remaining humble and apologizing, she had the gall to claim that she disliked how arrogant he was in his divorce against my aunt. What?! I'm getting pissed off all over again just thinking about it. This isn't even about the fact that the aunt is a non-bio relative (on the contrary, she's a beautiful woman with a beautiful spirit and I wish nothing but good things for her), this is about the fact that this fucked up bitch jumped into a divorce that had absolutely nothing to do with her, to justify disliking my uncle after he let her know how fucked up she is. Truthfully, she's never even had a real relationship with this aunt enough to suddenly feel like she needs to pick a side. And THAT is the bitch my mama chose to bring with her to see my sick uncle. Some goddamned nerve.

Seeing that really made me consider what I'd want to happen, who I'd want to know, and how I'd want folks to react if I ever got sick. My fear was that my fucked up sib would take one look at my uncle's withered body and throw herself on him and scream, groan, and cry about her poor sick uncle- despite having not seen or talked to him since the mid-2000's.

I decided then and there that if I got sick, I'm not telling a lot of folks. Nothing would make me angrier than a bitch that was downright evil toward me collecting sympathy points during moments of my illness. Enter the other day.

So I wrote before about the news that this diabetes thing isn't going well. My first thought was to keep it to myself. No need to worry people. But then I thought about it, and I knew that I had to tell my mom. Well, she's actually my stepmom, but she's shown me more love, compassion, kindness and wisdom than my bio mother ever did. Yeah, this is my mom, right here. So I called her. I told her. Neuropathy. She was worried, but calm. She told me to make sure my diet is okay, she encouraged me to take care of myself and not get worried. My mother is incredible. I felt like that was it. No more telling people.

But as time went on, I felt like some people just needed to know. My biggest fear was something happening to me, and those closest to me being the last to know. Not cool. So I called Sky. I told Daisy, my sister from another mister. Then I called Fred. By the time I called Fred, I was pretty upset. Sky and Daisy both offered insight and support and I'm so honored by how much they showed their concern. But Fred really calmed me. This is a man who can have some pretty dickish tendancies, but he listened to my fears and reminded me that worrying doesn't help things and to do what I know for sure will help. I told another close girlfriend yesterday. At one point, I choked on the words "If I don't get this straight-" I paused. My friend, Christine offered "you'll die?" And the floodgates opened.

It isn't lost on me that I'm sharing all of this on my blog, where it is readily available to any and everyone. Oddly enough, I've always felt like this blog and my facebook page are like my record for when I'm no longer here. So if these words are what people cling to, *shrugs*

I'm feeling more hopeful today. The warming sensation is lessening. It was pretty  hardcore yesterday, but has scaled back. I decided to go hard on the veggies for the next week and some change, and then visit my doctor to see how things line up. But whatever happens to me, I want to make sure that all of the emotion around me and my condition is genuine, not people clinging to me because of fear of leaving kind words unsaid. If you can't be kind to me while I'm here to receive them, I certainly don't want you sharing them when I'm ill, just to alleviate your own guilt.

When the actor, Sherman Hemsley, died of cancer, he didn't tell the public. He lived his life to the fullest until the end. He didn't want the chemo. I also feel that he didn't want a bunch of fake, half-assed people showing up and offering their apologies for whatever they'd done and getting shit off their chest and trying to create fake connections in the end. I kind of dig that, and at his age, I'd like to go out much the same way. I want my true friends and loved ones to be that to me til my casket drops. And I want the fake people that hate me to keep that energy til the end. If its good enough for George Jefferson, its certainly good enough for me.

Neuropathy

I recently disclosed that this stupid diabetes is rearing its ugly head again. I can't be mad, this is my own effing fault. I sometimes do an amazing job of keeping things together. Other days, this is a kick in the teeth. Of course the holidays didn't make things better. But overall, I've done well. I've been running and walking through my  neighborhood and sometimes through the park. My diet has been better.

So imagine my surprise when I felt this warm sensation shooting through my leg? I was at work, at my desk, where I often keep a space heater at my feet to stay warm. Except, I looked up and the space heater was nowhere near my leg. That's odd. A bit later, I felt it again, in the same leg. Random warmth. Yesterday, while wearing sweatpants, my leg felt so warm, I felt like the sun was shining directly onto it. Except it wasn't. I was wearing black sweatpants. But it was still warm. I gave up and gave Google a spin. I saw a few things linked to diabetes. Fuck.

This morning, I decided to talk to a nurse in my building. I told him my symptoms and he said to me "it sounds like neuropathy." He then explained "neropathy is the body's way of telling you that you're at a breaking point with your diabetes. If you keep going the way you're going, you'll be at a point of no return. You have to cut out pretty much everything. Salt, sugar, all of that." I was crushed. What? Huh?

What scared me the most is the fact that I've seen other people die from diabetes. Its a long, nasty, painful process. Not even painless, open wounds, amputation, strokes, all kinds of shit. And there lies my life, potentially. *sigh* Fuck.

Malika, The Theme

So I'm single. I actually enjoy it this time around. Ted is closeby to keep my back scratched, and he does an outstanding job of it. No dating though. I mean, I'm somewhat open to dating new men, but truth be told, I'm expecting some changes later in the year and I don't want the bullshit of some dude to distract me from my goals. I like being single, because it allows me to be at my best, without playing the dating game. I'm over the dating game. I'm really in love with the woman that I am becoming. And part of becoming her is learning to protect her heart and mind, via cutting off bullshit at the door.

The crazy thing is that I'm not typically short on men that would like to date me- the issue is that I don't come across many men that take my time and heart seriously. Facebook, which has served as an incredible social outlet, has also led to quite a few men in my inbox. I've learned something from the inboxers though- none of these men are into the actual me. Quite often they see me online, cracking hysterical jokes, making intellectual quips about life, and they assume that's all there is to me. That I'm just an easygoing woman with a high sex drive who likes to laugh. They see me as a theme, as a representative.

I mean, yeah, that is a part of who I am, but I'm so much more. I'm funny, kind, introspective, big on social justice, educated, pro-Black, pro-children (just not pro having more children), I have moments of insecurity. To put it in a nutshell, I'm human. I'm flawed. I'm multi-faceted. But men see me goofing off on Facebook and assume that dating me means a few inbox messages and I'll be sitting on their face in a week and a half.

Not at all. I like dates. I like men who are gentle (but not wimps). I like men who travel (and have plans to take me with them). I want a man who shares his hopes and dreams. I mean, who would have thought that the same guys who inbox me, meet with me once and discover that I'm a normal woman, not the fantasy they built me up to be. It happens. A lot.

I had a girlfriend who used to may slick comments rooted in her jealousy (she and I are no longer friends), where she would say that she wishes she had men around to fuck, much like I do. I'd explain to her that 1) plenty of guys wanted to sleep with her, she just didn't see it and 2) being an object of desire isn't all its cracked up to be. Men will lie, cheat, and steal to get pussy. It feels horrible to spend time with a man, ask a million questions, begin to let down your guard, only to find out he's a creep. Yet its the story of my fucking life. It isn't cute, it isn't fun, it isn't funny. But all she saw was that I was an object of desire. But she missed that part. An OBJECT.

The Look of Grief

I've accepted that I now belong to an elite club. An organization with the strictest of requirements for entrance, yet a club that no one wants to belong to. Its kind of a "I lost the one I love" club. Believe me, no one wants in on this shit.

I was just watching TMZ and they interviewed Sean Combs. He thanked them on camera for being respectful as he and his family suffered from the loss of Kim Porter, although he declined to say her name. Gone was the flashy, over the top Puff Daddy we knew of the mid-90's. Something was missing, and I could see him trying to find it. I know that look and feeling, because I experience parts of it every waking moment of my life.
He'd been in the process of hiking and he took time to film and post the hills he'd been hiking on. When the cameraman asked him how he was holding up, he answered something along the lines of "day by day, minute by minute." Sean and his ex of 10 years, Cassie, had been rumored to be close to their final break up, and immediately after Kim's passing, she was by Sean's side, but lately she's been seen booed up elsewhere. I don't blame her, because I knew how I was immediately after Pete's passing as well. Well-intentioned (and some not-so-well-intentioned) men approached me constantly. And I was nice, but firm in my desire to be alone. I don't want your dick, I don't want you making me laugh, I want to be left the fuck alone. I know that feeling well. So I feel Sean. Other people may not have seen it, but I certainly did. I wanted so bad to hug him and say to him "I understand, take all the time you need."
In my time immediately after, I took to the mountains twice. I needed that so much. To simply be next to nature. Its amazing how being in the mountains you almost feel like you're stripping down, energetically raw. Nothing but you and your emotions, as you sort through all of these thoughts and feelings. Its almost like "if I can't be near the person I love and lost, let me just be in this moment with nature, since this is the closest I'll come to their spirit" I still look up at sunsets on occasion and feel like the light peeking through those clouds is a message from Pete.

A girlfriend recently hipped me to a male musician in Atlanta who has these banging ass house parties here in Atlanta. The man lost his partner over a decade ago, but I could feel his loneliness, his aching as he performed at a party. My friend swore to me that he wasn't lonely. She assured me that he's surrounded by women of his choosing and he lives this wild musician lifestyle, the ultimate bachelor.
She couldn't see it, but I could. Its amazing how you can spot it. How unspoken it is, this hurt, this longing. Trying your best to make sense of seeing a person, loving them, and being loved by them, then one day the Universe says "that's it, time to go." There is no arguing. No pleading. No complaint department. You just gotta deal with that shit. And it leaves you with a hole in your heart that you just wear, like an anchor. You spend, essentially the rest of your days looking for the part of your spirit that left with your loved one. You'll never get it back.

A few months ago, I played the lotto. I imagined what I'd do if I had $100m plus to blow. Anything I wanted, I could buy. The very first thing my mind wandered to wasn't fancy vacations, huge homes, fast cars. For a very split second, when I said "what would I have if I could have anything? I'd bring Pete back." It was a passing moment, and then I was sad again. When considering the one thing I wanted more than anything, the first thing that came to mind was something money can't buy. Even if I hit the lotto and had fancy boats and clothes, I'd still feel that same longing. When Kim died, that's how I knew Sean felt. $820m is what he's worth, and with all of that, the awards, the women, the cars, the trips, all of that, he'd never have back the woman he loved.
I remember when Caleb was a baby, there was an elderly woman who lived in the same building that I did. She'd always greet me and Caleb and ask our names and introduce herself. Her name was Ms. Pence. Her husband of 2 years had died when she was younger. I don't recall how, but I know that despite not remembering me or my son, she talked steadily about her husband. Honestly, I never got it, until now. She remembered those small details of her love and although she'd dated since then, none of them ever matched up, so she opted to remain alone. I feel her in that. After losing a person you love, anyone you're with seriously afterward has to be amazing, because you get to the point of choosing to be alone rather than settling for some wack shit. Either that, or you cling to whatever warm body will have you. And even then, you cling to the memory of the person you lost.
That was 11 years ago and Ms. Pence was older then, so I kind of hope that in that time, she made her way home to her departed husband.
So I'm in this club, the Lonely Hearts Club. My cross to bear. Such is life.