It’s me again. Just letting you know i’m still dickin’ around in this place called single-dome. It’s not too bad here. Shaving your legs is optional, actually shaving anything is optional. I’ll be carrying over that same rule when we get together. I’m getting off track….
How have your days been going? Hopefully well. It’s wedding season time once again, so of course my family dangles me around like a piñata and verbally bashes me for dickin’ around in single-dome. At least i get candy, and i don’t have to share with anybody. Silver lining.
Winter always makes me want to be in a relationship. It makes me over romanticize situations in my head while drinking coffee by myself. Which is cool. I like drinking by myself. But during this time, it would be nice to drink some coffee with you. I’m sure i’d like that. Especially if you do the crosswords in the newspaper with me.
I’m in no rush to meet you. I figured we’ll bump into each other eventually if i believe every sappy ass novel i’ve read. Crossing my fingers you’ve actually been at Hogwarts this entire time. It would just be nice to giggle about something lately. Maybe an inside joke or gaze sharing moments during the crossword puzzles. But like i said, i’m in no rush. It’s just the weather. I’m doing okay.
I just could be doing a little bit better.
Your future significant other
I’m a… “when you need me at the most dire moment, i’m there” type of friend. But not the, “i’m here every day for the shits & giggles” type of friend.
Maybe that makes me a shitty person. I’m not really sure at this moment. But when real bad situations go down, i’m in my car already on my way to your house or booking my ticket to meet you in Mexico the next morning. When you’re completely fucked, in utter turmoil, or getting married/birthing a human, i’m your girl. Because i can’t be that friend you seek for your every day life. I can’t enjoy the carefree talks, the non-existent quick trips to Target, or even texting back on time. And that makes me feel like shit. That i can’t give you, as a friend, a consistent person to depend on. I’m there at rock bottom or complete bliss, and i miss out on those sprinkle of highs and lows in between there.
My only excuse is that i’m busy. I’m so busy that it makes me look like the most shitty friend possible to ever have. And no matter how much i tell you i’m really not that bad, i’ll text you back that answer you needed from me a week later. Because of this, my friendships with people are so few and so rocky. I’ll be that person you call at 3 in the morning to bail you out of jail when your roommate won’t. You don’t want to not marry that person you’re about to say vows to? I’ll bring the car around front. Heart completely broken and you can’t stop watching 500 Days of Summer? I will physically drag your ass to the shower and take you to Chipotle. But just saying hi, how are you every day in a text or some form of social media is so hard for me BECAUSE I AM DOING THOUSANDS AND MILLIONS OF THINGS AND I KNOW YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THAT AND I’M SORRY.
I’m sorry that i suck. I’m sorry i said congratulations too late or confirmed i did in fact watch American Horror Story the other night. I’m sorry i can never be there for the small things, even though i’m there for all the big things. Sometimes i seem like a figment of your imagination because the last time we’ve physically seen each other was probably our college graduation. I’m trying. I try every single day and believe me, when i’m not there for those small things it upsets me because you matter to me. Our friendship really truly matters. Despite my actions that seem to make you think otherwise. I’m trying to be a less shitty friend.
Today while i was on the bus, a little girl behind me was whispering to her mom about my hair. “It’s so red! Can i touch it, mommy?” Her mom hushed her and told her to keep her hands to herself. Next thing i know, i’m feeling a tug at my long braid. Having already eavesdropped in the conversation, i figured she was touching my hair. I was wrong.
She had the end of my hair in her mouth.
Before i could react to the situation, her mom while being horrified, started yelling at her. “Sophie!!! YOU DO NOT PUT OTHERS PEOPLES HAIR IN YOUR MOUTH!!” And as little Sophie was frightfully crying by this entire situation, she belted out, “I WANTED TO KNOW IF IT TASTED LIKE STRAWBERRIESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!”
I mental noted not to go so bright on the red next time.
In my experience, I always come together with somebody who doesn’t have their shit together or vice versa. Somebody always has a little chill in their heart or a chip on their shoulder. We’re not prepared for one thing or all things in the relationship and inevitably, we break up. That’s the story of most of our ex partners.
Now I feel like I’m too prepared rather than unprepared and I’m going to freak somebody out. We’re all used to getting the shit show first. I’m pretty well balanced in having my shit together nowadays and when it comes to communication I know how to give and receive it in a decent amount. I’m coming out the gate in all star mode rather than a rookie and I feel like that’s more intimidating than the mess I was in a couple of years ago.
I was dating someone for a couple of months and I was okay with getting in touch a couple times during the week and hanging out for a day on the weekend. Never felt it was a problem until they ended things abruptly with me because I wasn’t paying them much attention apparently. They didn’t bring it up. I didn’t think I had to ask a grown adult if they felt like I was ignoring them.
Now I might stay being single because I ~have~ my shit together this time around. I can’t win here.
But then i picture myself sitting somewhere doing what i committed, looking out the window, seeing everyone else’s things that they’ve committed to walking by me, and feeling dread that i picked the wrong thing. And then i start panicking. How do i tell my parents that i don’t want to commit to this thing? How would i get out? Can i get out? What about my bills? QUARTER LIFE CRISIS.
I can’t commit to things yet. There are a lot of things i want to give my all to and narrowing it down to even at least my top three isn’t even in the realm of possibility. Does this make me a bad person? I don’t know. Does this mean i’m going to keep my parents on the tip of their toes with anxiety if i’ll ever amount to anything? Almost every day of my life probably. I don’t know if i’ll be somebody important. I’m pretty important to my dog, does that count for anything?
Yes, Dad. I would love for you to fill in your friends or family members with astonishing grown up tales about your lovely career driven daughter who has successfully used her degrees to steam roll the market place and live happily ever after. But instead you get return mail addresses when trying to send me Christmas cards because i’m nomadic, and my job background looks like the classified section in the newspaper.
Things might change eventually. People keep telling me that when you really love doing something, you can do it forever. But i’m doing things that i really love doing, and seeing it in the forever aisle of my dreams completely fucking freaks me out. Maybe i live too free as a person that any restrictions, no matter how lovely and great, can still feel like shackles on my feet. Is that bad? Well, if you ask my mum she’ll tell you yes, yes it is bad. And then proceed to tell you that i’ll never get married and give her grandkids. BECAUSE I AM THE EVIL DAUGHTER WHO CANNOT FULLY COMMIT TO ANYTHING BUT BURRITOS. MWAHAHAHAHAHA.
… somebody put that on my tombstone when i die.
When i come home dead beat tired from work all i want to do is shove a poptart in my mouth, throw my clothes off, drape myself across the couch, and request you to be with me.
I don’t need you to cuddle me, fuck that, its too hot for cuddling. I just released my tits from a chesticle prison, let them be free as the wind. I don’t need kisses either, i’m trying to eat a poptart dude. CRUMBS ARE GOING EVERY WHERE ALREADY.
I just want to lay around you. On top, beside, behind, upside down. I don’t give a shit. I’ll mutter incoherent words to you while you use my butt as a laptop workstation so you can finish whatever i interrupted prior to me poptart free ballin’ on the couch. Just acknowledge that even though i’m tired and have no means to woo you right now that i do enjoy your company. That maybe even though i don’t want to kiss you this second that me letting you use my butt as a temporary desk is me saying, “hey, you’re swell”. I’ll take the fact that you let me lay on you while getting poptart crumbs on you is also a gesture that you think i’m swell too.
And if i drool on you because i fell asleep halfway through eating my poptart and its still in my mouth, please remove it. I might die otherwise and i haven’t erased my internet history yet AND ACT LIKE YOU LOVE ME, BITCH.
Your future wife