Everything is going in a loop. I go to work and the gym and the supermarket and I sleep and wake up. I binge watch movies and fuss around my apartment but I change nothing.

One day, I blink and I raise my head up and I realise I'm thirty five years old and I've never been in love. Sexual experiences yes, love, no. And I suddenly remember I have no friends. I hadn't even noticed when people stopped calling because I didn't care. Now I try to reach them and its awkward that they're mostly married or just disappeared somewhere the way people did. Not like dead, I think at least. And it's funny and awkward trying to build a five year period of burnt bridges. I laugh and delete the numbers of all the people who were my friends.

I remember fun, though I never really had it unless I was dragged to a party and had to pretend I was interested but I would rather be reading a book, pillow held to my chest as I munch on too much sugar and listen to the sound of nothing but my chewing and how the characters sounded in my head.

I blow the dust off my makeup kit, literally, and watch online videos because I can't apply foundation and draw a proper brow to save my life. I pull out the skin tight golden dress that has been buried behind my closet and I only remember it's there because I saw a memory on Facebook from five years ago where I had it on. It still fits, shockingly, though rather snug around my backside but I've been eating well and watching my health so a little snuggness was more than expected.

I pull my fake hair off, the one I was accustomed to wearing because I hated sitting too long in a salon. My hair is fuller, thicker and I apply an insane amount of conditioner (because you can never use too much ) so I can comb it without pulling my scalp until finally it is managed. I smile at my handwork like I have won an award after a great ordeal, piling my hair on top, banding it into an afro. And as I put on my new gold hoop earrings and glittering bangles, I turn and turn, staring at my reflection and proud of my smooth cocoa brown skin. I could easily pass for a twenty year old even though I was a few years shy from my fortieth birthday.

I hesitated as I got to the door. The Uber is waiting, I already looked up a nice club. I feel silly doing this, feeling so old. The driver hoots his horn almost impatiently, jarring me from my thoughts and commanding my footsteps.

It had been a little over eight years since I partied but the club was the same; loud music, jostling bodies, fluorescent lights.

Men hit on me and it made me remember I was actually female even more.

My anxiety creeped in and I twisted and turned, clawing my way through the crowd, finding my way to the door. The Uber is already driving off.

The fresh air is comforting and I breathe like a person starved. I'm moving, moving. No destination in mind. The night looks nice, busy, lit up. People moving around almost like it was daytime, their disposition between cheerful and guarded , as people who roamed the night seemed to be.

I'm walking with no destination in mind and the only reason I stop is because my heels pinch wickedly into my ankles. I call another Uber and soon I'm back in my haven.

I like the quiet and being alone and doing what I want.

Sometimes I think about Yemi who had proposed to me years ago. Of all my suitors, I liked him the most and I think about how I would have been as a married woman.

Just thoughts. I wouldn't trade my solitude for a pot of gold.