At home, I’m so annoyed that I pour a glass of red wine and fill the bathtub with hot, hot water and dump in a huge scoop of soothing bath salts. After stripping off my clothes, I slide into the water, submerging until everything but my nose is covered.

Anne’s just trying to be my friend. Anne’s trying to be supportive. But Anne’s making me crazy.

I know I’m not being practical. I know Seattle is my home. But I also know that the happiest ten days I’ve had in the last year have been the ten days I spent in Hawaii.

I force myself to take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I do this three more times, try to clear my head, clear the tension, but I’m really struggling to find inner calm right now.

Why can’t I go back? Who says I have to be practical?

Who says I can’t just have fun?

“Everyone says so,” I mutter grumpily, using my foot to turn the faucet back on to add more hot water. Especially my good pal Anne.

I wish I could pick up my wineglass with my foot.

I wish I could kick Anne with my foot. Jack, that’s not nice. No, but the thought makes me feel good.

I sink even lower, hold my breath, and just float beneath the surface.

Anne says I deserve more. Anne and the rest of my friends say I need someone who will be everything I hope for, someone who will appreciate everything I am.

That sounds fabulous, it really does, but is that real? Will I ever meet someone who will think I’m as wonderful as my friends think? And even if it’s possible, does life really work out that way? Because honestly, I’ve lived long enough to know we don’t always get what we deserve. We don’t always get the good we should.

I come up for air, push my wet hair from my face, and reach for my wineglass. One sip, and another. It’s good wine. One more sip before lying back down to float some more.

Life isn’t poured in equal cups for everyone. Some people get more and some get less. Some get it hot and some have it cold. Some get drowned by the generosity while others thirst, hungering for more. Some are happy with their portions while others are never filled, never content, never able to say, “Good, I’ve had enough. I’m satisfied.”

I fall into that last group. It is true. These past few years, I was never quite satisfied. I was always hoping for just a little bit more, for another generous measure.

And now that I’m single, I’m even more demanding. I feel like getting a megaphone and standing on the steps of my kids’ school shouting, “Bring it on. Pour it out. More. I want more!”