I’m smart. I’m bad at math and horrible at grammar, but I’m smart. And I’ve learned a lot in the past year. Most important, that nothing means anything unless you communicate it up front. When a man tells you that he doesn’t know what he wants, he definitely means he doesn’t want you. There may be rare exceptions, but I wouldn’t suggest you hold your breath in hopes of becoming one of them.
I don’t do well with options. Have you ever seen me at Target? I damn near had an aneurism at the Frozen Kuhsterd truck last week because I couldn’t pick between thai tea kuhsterd with condensed milk and corn flakes, or spiked cereal milk with siracha burnt caramel sauce and peanuts. Oh wait, is that a silvana ice-cream sandwich? You better quit playing …
Sometimes I can be indecisive (I swear only sometimes). I want to go back to New York, but I want to stay in SF. I want to pursue my writing, but I want to get more into events. Orrr do I want to do broadcast journalism instead? I want to go to Coachella, but need to go to Cancun for a wedding.
Then there’s him. Can I picture us actually together? I don’t know. What if we get to know each other and he ends up annoying the shit out of me? What if two months into it, I meet someone else? Do I want to just hang in there and have fun? Take it for what it is until it isn’t anymore? Or do I want to just quit while I’m ahead? Before it’s too late?
I don’t fucking know. I almost never know what I want. But I do know he doesn’t want me. I do know that if I continue to stay, I’ll just be hurting myself. And I definitely DON’T want that.