Okay, I’m not laughing

I am sick of being by myself, also

Maybe sick of myself.

Even in the best of times

Which this is not

I have

As they say

Limited existential resiliency.

So after I

Polish my nails

Clean out the cupboards

Examine in minute detail my wrinkles

And gray hair

I equivocate.

Either I go out or alternatively

Man up and

Abide by myself

With myself.

I tentatively conclude that being sick of myself is

Better than being sick.

At least so far.

I do remember however

When I was younger

I wanted to sleep with a guy who confessed he had the clap

I told him I didn’t care

So we made love

I got the clap.

Just saying.