If I thought May was Manless it has nothing on June.
My fwb found girlfriends (yes that’s plural). My lust turned to dust–after a long-weekend road trip. Random unclear communication via facebook messenger ended a fizzling flame. And a certain person that I may or may not work with appears to be incredibly flakey and I’m pretty sure a secret pick-up artist. When I said, “I’m reading The Game,” he quickly expressed that he had “never heard of it.” Which makes me think he had not only heard of it, but read it and practices it. Because most people would just be like–The Game? What’s that about. If they had indeed never heard of it. But, maybe I’m just paranoid now. (More on The Game another day.)
So yeah, I purposely gave up men in May, but now they all seem to giving up on me. I have been considering re-inabling my online dating account because I feel alone and it’s easy to get attention that way.
I have no qualms admitting that I enjoy attention from other people; I do in fact need it, at least a little bit of it so as I justify my existence to myself–I know that’s not healthy but at least it’s honest.
My roommate said I have no idea how to be alone. Or something equal to that.
That’s what I was trying to do in May. To learn how to be alone. And to be fine with it.
And I was fine with it. But I guess, I wasn’t really “alone” as I was still talking to guys all the time, I just wasn’t going out with them.
Now I’m doing neither.
AND I’M OKAY I SWEAR IT.
I’m just bored. I want people to talk to in a meaningful way. I want someone to watch netflix with. I want someone to occasionally sleep in my bed (I say occasionally because I still prefer to sleep at a diagonal and I am not willing to give that up.) I want someone to challenge me, to push me to be my best self–and I to them. I want someone to rub my feet after I’ve been standing on concrete for eight + hours a day. I want to someone to laugh at my really bad jokes, and occasionally dish one out too.
This list could end up being a novel so I’m going to stop there.
. . . . .
Fine people. Fine. I’ll be alone.
I’ll start working on my book for real.
Forget what I want in my personal life. I don’t need one of those any way. . . I mean, yes I want one, but I guess I just have to accept the fact that I don’t have the personality for it and become a hermit writer, just like I am destined to be but somehow keep avoiding.