I normally do not like to get personal on Twitter, but I need to vent about something. I’m not necessarily looking for answers, although good answers are welcome. (1/)

I’m at a point in my life where I really want companionship (the human kind—the next time someone tells me I need to get a pet, I’m probably going to string together a set of four-letter-words that could reach Jupiter). (2/)

But here’s the problem: I am so sick of dating that I could vomit at the thought of going on another tedious first date. If it goes poorly, that’s bad. But if it goes well, that might be even worse, because in the end, they all flame out in spectacular, fiery crashes. (3/)

One of the problems with dating in one’s 40s is that nobody (present company included) gets to their 40s single without having some serious baggage. The stable ones are mostly taken. The odds are good, but the goods are odd. (4/)

I’m not saying that the baggage is the fault of the person who’s carrying it. But chances are, at this point in life, if you’re single, you’re probably divorced or have at least had your guts torn out by someone you loved, and nobody comes out of either situation undamaged (4/)

So when two damaged souls come together, it’s only a matter of time until one person hits the other person’s triggers, and the triggered person triggers the other person, and the next thing you know, the whole thing blows up.

It’s frustrating. (5/)

I’m sitting outside at a brewpub in Alameda, California today, musing on this topic. I’m tired of being single, and I’m tired of dating. It’s a dilemma indeed, because the first problem cannot be solved without overcoming the second. (6/)

But I am weary to my bones, truly. Weary right down to my soul (if such a thing actually exists, which I seriously doubt; but I am an agnostic, so I don’t foreclose on the possibility, however remote I might consider it to be). (7/)

So I’m sitting here drinking. Not seriously drinking—just a couple of beers while I sit in the sunshine and nurse my frustration and my newest scars. I’ll cop to bearing a lot of responsibility for those scars. Like I said in my earlier tweet, “present company included.” (8/)

And I’ve laid out all this venting on Twitter because frankly, I just had to vent, and I don’t want to do it on Facebook because those are close personal friends and family. Not that my friends here aren’t real friends—many of you are—but it cuts a little closer on FB. (9/)