...It must be hard to date me. When you come to the realization that you yourself couldn't date you, yourself... It is a harsh and unkind reality.

I mean, really... If I were to run into myself, and god forbid, date myself... I would tell myself off with a strand of insulting speech. It would go something like this:

"YOU overanalyze everything, you are emotionally constipated and though maybe in touch with your feelings have one hell of a time expressing them with words... Every thing you say is a contradiction to what you feel, and it makes no sense. Further more, you love jewelry and all things that sparkle more than you love the air that you breathe. You are RIDICULOUS!"

I am ridiculous.

In fact, when I care about the dating associate, I spend hours upon hours analyzing one sentence. ONE SENTENCE. I spend hours upon hours thinking about strange and random verbage.

I am constantly hearing 'What are you thinking about?' from those that I date. And I constantly say 'Oh, nothing.' That is a bold faced lie. It is always something. Only, if I were to inform them what it was that I was thinking, they would look at me as if I was insaine.

And I am. Maybe not crazy in the 'Admit me to the Psych Ward' Way- but in the 'Good god, quantum physics is less complicated than you' kind of way.

What I would love more than anything is to know what former dating associates say in reference to me. Or even better, if the current dating associate views me as the pain in the ass that I clearly am...

I guess some questions are better left unanswered.  ¶ 10:27 AM