Welcome to the age of uninnocence

So the past couple of days weren't exactly the best. I'm a little exhausted and had a little frustration by getting locked out of my apartment. But all that aside, I seem to be developing this Sex and the City sense of cynicism. Not quite sure how it happened but I'm the writer who listens to all her friends discuss their love lives without actually having one of my own. I sit there, and I swear I don't mind it, but I listen to them. I am there for them. I give them advice that I'm only qualified to give based on my observations and the number of romance novels I've devoured and discovered to be completely untrue.

When did it happen that I was content to live vicariously through my friends and not find someone for myself? When did it happen that the worst break up of my life was with someone I considered to be as close to me as a sister?