The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast.

I am terrible at dating. I’ve been dating since I was fourteen years old and I am highly proficient at being rejected, dumped, or doing something cruel and unusual. However, my most recent beau was the erratic mess. He was what could be best described as the self important writer; too apathetic to care about the world around him, fully encompassingĀ  the depth of a puddle. I had found the one person that was the complete opposite of me, but I insisted that it was love. It was not love just mild desperation to be wanted and held. Maybe that sounds pathetic, but when reality is hard to swallow and the world seems full of strangers, it’s easy for one to become painfully lonely.

I am a pretty lonely person, not to say that I am uniquely lonely or eccentric, I just find myself sitting in diners alone quite often. This realization isn’t as depressing as it may sound, I just haven’t met many people that care or like the same things as I do. Being a twenty year old female is especially difficult or at least it can be. The clubbing, the drinking, the bad music is all expected from women my age or the complete opposite is expected: the fedoras, the indie vinyl collection, the urban outfitter receipts that embellish the bottom of some imitation leather purse. I guess I’m somewhere in the middle; a lush with an infectious love for jazz. I have deviated far from the subject matter of my post, but there’s really not much more to say except that you were a bad person that was never worth my time and I should have told you to fuck off a long time ago. For the first time, in a long time I don’t feel as lonely or unwanted. I can enjoy my own company and I’m an alright human being.

On a lighter note, Walker Percy is slowly becoming one of my favorite writers. I am also dying to purchase toss pillows for my beat up recliners. I am turning into my mother.

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