"I'd rather be lonely. I'd rather be free..."Right now there is $11,000 sitting in bank accounts that belong to me. It's college money and wedding money.
But how much interest do I have in college or marriage?
I'm sitting in my stupid lingerie outfit with a headache the size of a small impoverished nation, wondering how things worked out this way.
I remember the day I was proposed to, the horror of it. The only thing that kept me from bolting headlong from the car and sprinting down the darkened streets was him. But even that doesn't seem like enough anymore.
And the words, the pledge I made on the dock with shaking legs...
"Sure. I guess."
With vomit churning in my guts, with my throat closing, with my heart hammering frantic in my chest.
It all inspires me to terror. Wedding invitations, dresses, deadlines. I discuss them with the people involved, again longing to escape the room.
"Congratulations" Mozel-fucking toff.
People tell me I have cold feet.
My whole body is numb.
My heart is cold.
What can I do?
Do I walk down an aisle, sign some papers and carry-on?
Do I run away again? To find myself alone and unhappy?
Why is Jenny Lewis singing the same line to me over and over again?
"I'd rather be lonely, I'd rather be free..."
