All of these people are sending you dating questions and I’ve come to realize I’m going to die alone.
-Sad, Annoyed and Allergic to Cats
Dear Sad, Annoyed and Allergic to Cats,
This column may be the most honest thing that I’ve written, and while I probably should be sorry for pretending to be some naive and tragically misled idealist in my other writings (previous Meet Markets notwithstanding), I’m not. If there’s one thing that covering the news over the last couple of years has taught me, it’s that being honest doesn’t get you where you want to go. But looking honest is invaluable. Be it hiring talking heads to scream at Don Lemon or hiring hitmen to eliminate dissidents, compromising your integrity is a surefire way to accomplish your ends. Yes folks, the key to both happiness and success in life is being a sociopath. Hooray humanity.
The truth is that you and I are in the same camp (although I’m perfectly capable of enjoying my cats and not ballooning into a buffy red blob of sadness and annoyance; I have Fox News for that). However I take pessimistic comfort in knowing that this isn’t permanent as I’ll be dead and forgotten in due time. Even cheerier a proposition is that we may soon be able to find ourselves back in relationships that bring us equal parts sedative pleasure and crushing omnipresent anxiety. One can only hope.
In your case, you ought to keep in mind that as all of the prime cuts of meat are being selected and given tiny metal bands to signify that they’ve made the insane decision to cough up their agency for the rest of one of two lives, more people will go “Crap. I still need to cough up my agency!” Since enough of us seem to have bought into this scheme, capitalism dictates that your odds will increase as the searching will become more frantic. Demand side economics makes strange bedfellows. Literally! Beyond that, there is no reason to extrapolate from your inability to succeed in this small market that we call St. Joseph that you’ll be able to find a more properly niche market elsewhere. People are fickle and fickle people leave.
In the meantime, there’s no reason to not bask in this unique time of freedom that you have before work, marriage, liver failure and other forms of death finally begin to set in. Apparently these are the four best years of your life, so I suppose you better settle in for some misery. I recommend whiskey on the rocks to warm your poor enlightened soul.