A quiet Monday - no emails, no lonely people. It's like the cruise ship sailed in and everyone got off, had a coke, took a picture, and then got back on the boat and sailed off again, leaving me waving, marooned again.
Every email I read made me cry; not because they were pathetic or particularly sad, but because they were nice - nice people (who knew it Daily Mail readers?) and they took a moment and reached out to tell me that though I was on planet lonely I was not alone. And they all made me think - sometimes about things I'd rather not consider.
The one negative comment came by letter, a very determined letter that found me at home which began: 'I enjoyed your article and then I felt critical.' He (I think it was male) then went on to tell me on two pages of single spaced typed A4, his criticisms. I assume. I'm afraid I didn't read it, but tore it up and put it in the dustbin - not even the recycling but the one with left over vegetarian stew in it so it quickly became too disgusting for me to recant, and get it back out.
Anyway, here's my answer to Mr Critical: Fuck you.
I mean, you don't need everyone to empathize, and share their similar experiences, though it's very life-affirming when they do, but who the heck starts a letter with the word 'critical' in the first line?
So do, you wonderful, high-powered and creative, mostly married, fully-offsprung women who have odd moments of loneliness despite being busy and loved; do feel free to disembark any time at Planet Lonely for an excursion, to look at the view with me, before you cruise away; but the cross critical ones, sod off - your visa isn't valid. We might be lonely but we still have border control.
Every email I read made me cry; not because they were pathetic or particularly sad, but because they were nice - nice people (who knew it Daily Mail readers?) and they took a moment and reached out to tell me that though I was on planet lonely I was not alone. And they all made me think - sometimes about things I'd rather not consider.
The one negative comment came by letter, a very determined letter that found me at home which began: 'I enjoyed your article and then I felt critical.' He (I think it was male) then went on to tell me on two pages of single spaced typed A4, his criticisms. I assume. I'm afraid I didn't read it, but tore it up and put it in the dustbin - not even the recycling but the one with left over vegetarian stew in it so it quickly became too disgusting for me to recant, and get it back out.
Anyway, here's my answer to Mr Critical: Fuck you.
I mean, you don't need everyone to empathize, and share their similar experiences, though it's very life-affirming when they do, but who the heck starts a letter with the word 'critical' in the first line?
So do, you wonderful, high-powered and creative, mostly married, fully-offsprung women who have odd moments of loneliness despite being busy and loved; do feel free to disembark any time at Planet Lonely for an excursion, to look at the view with me, before you cruise away; but the cross critical ones, sod off - your visa isn't valid. We might be lonely but we still have border control.
