Candle

I am feeling personal today, stuck in my own head, out of my story. It’s raining. I have a cup of coffee, ambient lighting. My candle isn’t lit. Maybe I should light my candle.

My candle is lit. My themed music is on. Where was I in my story? (Not my head, my story…) Ah yes, the twins. Mercury and Mira. No wait, I was on Tuesday. No, I finished Tuesday yesterday. So yes, the twins. They are so alike; they don’t even know it. They fight, but with the same fire. They obsess over different things, but with the same devotion. They are the scholar and the gamer. Pretty sure that isn’t exactly the great traditional paradox. PS4s are pretty new, but the twins are not old. They are consumed.

Out of my head, into my story.

Dating Profile (300)

The girls make the first move on Bumble. Yeah, sure. I’ll try it. Dating profile in 300 characters.

Dating Profile (279): You already annoy me.

Delete, delete, delete.

Dating Profile (244): I don’t drink, smoke, drive, have sex, or love children.

Occupation: Nanny

Well, the do not’s are easy, all the things that people have a problem with, that sends them limping away like wounded animals. Oh wait.

Dating Profile (222): Born-again Christian.

There, that usually pisses someone off. Now, I must sell myself. I must appeal to the general male masses of L.A. I skim through the male profiles. I find two trending pieces of critical information on countless profiles. Height and “good vibes.” I add this pertinent information to my own.

Dating Profile (196): 5′ 2.5″ Murderous vibe.

There. I feel I am headed in an excellent direction. Here’s where things get tricky. Obviously, I should be truthful. However, do I display the person that I am at this moment or the person I would be if I made a connection with someone?

If I displayed who I am now?

Dating Profile (2): Haven’t left the apartment in days. My only friend is a 6-month old that makes me gag when she eats solids. I have binged half of Netflix and watch unseemly man-boys play video games on Youtube.

Huh. I am not sure I would attract the right kind of fish with this bait. I mean, let’s be honest, there can be such a thing as being too honest.

Who could I be, to get their attention?

Dating Profile (148): Full-time explorer. Up for anything. Let’s hike,

I already feel exhausted. The problem is that I fairly know what a good amount of these guys would want me to write. Frankly, however, I could never live up to that kind of portrayal. In fact, I feel like my profile would be an anti-profile if I honestly addressed most of the information given in the male profiles.

Dating Profile (-459): I don’t go to the gym. I do yoga in my bedroom because I don’t want to be seen in public in yoga pants. I don’t really like traveling. I like BEING in new places, but getting there is rarely enjoyable. I don’t care about craft beer, most sports, or how tall you are. I am not 420 friendly; I am NOT up for anything, and you just sound exhausting with your hiking, surfing, and alcohol infatuations. Also, I don’t really understand why everyone is obsessed with tacos and “vibes.” If you don’t have anything in your profile, don’t bother. If you don’t have a shirt on in your profile picture, swipe left. How are you all not dead yet, and what am I even doing on here?!?

What am I even doing? Writing my dating profile makes me rethink whether or not I even want to be dating right now. I’ve become bitter and impatient with the modern tradition. I signed up for an app that gives me the power, but I might not even want it. Well, no matter the existential relationship question, I need to complete this deceivingly warped challenge. Me, in 300 characters.

Dating Profile (6):

Born-again Christian. 5′ 2.5″ Murderous vibe (INTJ). I love to write, read, and dance but can only do one competently. Bookstores and cafes. I can be cold and logical. I’ve been told it’s intimidating. I like adventures, but I like the calm, too.

I don’t drink, smoke, drive, have sex, or love children. 

Me, in 300 characters. It’s not enough, but it won’t ever be enough. I have to converse, reach out and understand what’s out there. The profile isn’t perfect; it might not make much sense, but I am tired. I’m sure I’ll change it multiple times, even though it may be awhile before I am ready to live up to its existence.

 

 

 

 

Breakup Haircut

I’m going to chop all my hair off. Cliche, I know. Women always seem to get a haircut after the break up. I get it. It’s a change; we feel it’s a positive change. That and we aren’t looking to impress anyone for a while; so if we turn into Chucky or Charlie Brown, it has time to grow back before we even feel like looking for another relationship to grow our hair out in.

What happened? This used to be easier. They were meaner; they were harsher. Then, I wised up; I started dating smarter. I thought that would be easier, but it’s not. It hurts more when you are in the arms of greatness, but it still isn’t right. When did I throw away my scissors and start tearing through this mess with my bare hands?

I sat in the thick of my thoughts, hurt by the understanding that I would hurt them. What happens when only one person can see the truth in a two-person world. He is confused; he doesn’t understand what happened. I happened.

I’ll take that on. I cannot say I have done you wrong; because unlike you, I see what we would have become. But just like you, I had hoped, too. I have to burn all that down, just like you.

They hug you; they bring comfort. I wasn’t worthy of you. I don’t know what I am missing. That’s okay. They are probably right. I walked away from our future lit, knowing full well that someday when you draw her close and breathe her in, that you will be thankful I let us burn.

So, I chopped my hair off. And by the time it grows back out, maybe I’ll be ready to get my hands dirty again. Maybe you’ll be telling your date about how you had nobly risen from my ashes.

Old

All I have are old photos. I am the player that wears his Letterman jacket long after the game ends. I was in college once; I studied abroad once. I lived and worked abroad! Once. I am 24, not old, no. Then why do I feel dusty, rusted somehow? My hinges creak when you take me out to play.

I visited my family not too long ago. Are you writing? Am I writing? No, I am not. You are so great, though! I loved that book you wrote; it was fantastic. I wrote that children’s book in 8th grade. I peaked in 8th grade.

Thanks to the internet, I see people I admire. Personality doppelgangers, my doubles from an alternative path. They said yes; I said no. They got it done; I watched another three or four episodes of Buffy. They are moving forward. If I just stuck to my Facebook, I wouldn’t have this particular complex. I can’t seem to stay in one place long enough to hang a mentor on the wall. However, that implies I am moving. Picture it like being on a merry-go-round, and I just keep jumping horses. New saddle, new view, same circle.

Numerous first posts by me fill the cracks of the internet. The angst, the spark of determination, the fear. If I die before I write another post, I want the definition of insanity written on my- Well, just paint it on my forehead before you toss me into the fire. It’s cheaper that way.

If you find that depressing, we do not have the same sense of humor. Post one of breaking the cycle. This wash out is tired of being washed up. I’m still young and tired of everyone thinking they are “an old soul”.