It's been years since I last owned a diary. And when I say years, I mean close to two decades now. I can't believe I'm 32 years old, first of all. I remember a day when I thought, "I can't wait to be 16." Bought that t-shirt. Burned it.
We're currently 8 days away from a megalomaniac being sworn into office to run our country, and what's currently on my mind is that I'm 32 years old and single. First world problems.
But sitting in a room with my sister as her boyfriend lovingly tries to massage the pain from her neck makes you realize how often you're the third wheel, even in your own house. I've got to get out. I can't even say "get out more". I don't go out period.
Part of me is cool with that. About 95% of me is cool with that...85%. I don't like people. I don't like the awkwardness of guys looking at you (the majority of which you're not necessarily attracted to in the first place) or small-talking to you. I hate small talk. I hate being stared at. But that 15%, man.
15% of me realizes a lot of the women in my family are single and weird and should have a million cats between them, and I'm always going to be weird, but I don't necessarily want to be single. I also know a lot them were with/are with men that are not good for them, so I also don't want to settle for just any Bojack that comes along.
But 100% of me is a Rom Com romantic. Je suis Amélie. I'm constantly thinking in the back of my head, "Is this the guy? Are we going to make a connection right now?" while the front of my head is saying, "Whoa, calm down. It's the pizza guy. He's probably 18."
I do feel like The Guy is going to emerge from a random connection, though. How else would it happen? And yet, I won't know until I put myself out in the open, to be seen and spoken to. That's usually how it works.
I just need to take a deep breath, brace myself, and make that first step.
Wish me luck.