My goal in life is to "Live like you were dying" because I am. I have no idea how long these lungs are going to last me, so I live everyday doing things I love (during the time I'm awake), but I don't mind my naps, either. I quite rather enjoy them.
I know because I know I'm 'dying' I see the world differently. I'm not going to have 80 years total. Well maybe I will. There might be a cure or a way to make lung transplants better or something, but I can't count on it. So I do things fast. Really fast. Even when I say I want to slow down, I mean slow down in Carla terms, which is still usually faster than the way other people do things.
For example, when I was sick and living at home in that home town we don't mention anymore, I decided I NEEDED to move back to my city - the city I love. And about two months later I was moved in. It helps that my mother doesn't fool around when making decisions either, but I do my share of pushing things along.
This is all leading up to my clever rant about boys. I guess this is my explanation of why I want things the way I want them.
I go for the "he's old, he might be ready for marriage" type. I think somewhere my brain is convinced that maturity and age are the only things that will help someone deal with my CF.
It's my type, sadly. Because if they are that old and aren't already married, they probably aren't ready for marriage or there is something seriously -and I mean VERY seriously wrong with them. This has proved true several times, and I don't know why I even bother anymore. I have enough problems of my own, let's avoid situations where I am dating a giant problem, thank you.
Also I have recently been very frustrated by the density of men. Are they all void of functioning brain cells? Seriously, I'm only going to ask you out so many times before I give up on "giving you hints" you don't understand.
Then there is this issue. If you don't want to date me, fine, it's your loss and I will except that readily - but just fucking tell me! If you dance (wow, what a pun) around this shit any longer I will get so mad I may destroy your life for FUN. Not because you did anything to me, but just because I CAN.
I'm a big girl. Rejection doesn't hurt me as much as it may seem (especially when you saw me drunk and sobbing at that party - and not sobbing a little, it was the ugly cry. The "I can't stop crying" cry.)
Honestly, I don't cry that much. When my most recent ex ripped out my heart and stomped all over it, did I cry? Yes. Both times you bastard. I cried both times you told me you wanted out after sleeping with me in my bed but before I fell asleep - oh yeah, and that first time was on my
birthday. You should remember. You were there. You were also there when I kicked your ass to the curb in the middle of the night, made you walk the five miles back to town, and then it started raining. Karma's a bitch and me and Karma go way back. But I got over him and his creepy roaming the earth and sleeping with everyone ways, and I'll get over you too.
I am tired of the boys who want to sleep with me but don't want anything else. I am tired of
thinking something is going somewhere only to be told "I don't want a relationship" in my own bed. Maybe I am stupid for not asking upfront if a guy is interested in more than my body. Maybe that will be my new policy. I will create a survey - with questions like "Will you be supportive?" and "Will you do the dishes when I tell you to?"
And if you ask me one more time why we're not sleeping together - physically or metaphorically - I. Will. Hurt you. Physically AND Metaphorically. And watch out, or I'll send my buddy Karma after you, and we all know, she's a bitch.
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