Life is a funny thing. No, not funny in the "Why'd the chicken cross the road?" (and there will be no debate on the validity of that claim to humor) sort, but funny in the way that things either work out or they don't. . .
For the record. . . I am almost 32 years-old, single, decent looking, funny, good head-on-my-shoulders big-hearted (and they really need to reconsider the "n" and "b" keys placement on the keyboard, because big hearted almost turned into something completely different), and overweight guy. . .
Sounds pretty great (well mostly) so far, right? (Come on now, guys, it was a rhetorical question. . .)
Over the last few years of my life, I have been rather unsuccessful with the ladies. . . Maybe it's because I call them "the ladies", but that's neither here nor there (and I should point out that it's much better than "the bitches", although occasionally that is a more apt description). After wafting through all those qualities that I have above one might be tempted, at least one who does not know me, to question as to why that is (as I have been known to do sometimes). . .
Well. . . The answer is simple. . . I'm crazy, at least int he modern relationship (or historical relationship) manner. . . I have a tendency to get excited about a new possible relationship extremely quickly. . . I don't like to hide my feelings once that I realize that I could possibly have them. I easily misconstrue the simplest niceties of friendship for those of flirtatious interest. All of these elevated senses cause my reactions to become less rational in how I go about dealing with the matter at hand. I am no longer cool and collected. . . I become. . . Dum-Dum-Dum. . . Mega-lame. . . I react without thinking and say things that I can easily regret. . . I become desperate and needy and I don't even really understand how I started on that path. . . In my desire to bring someone as close to me as possible, I end up doing everything possible to drive them as far away as they can get. . .
It is not my intention to do so. . . Hope makes me do stupid things, but it's not something that I can survive without. All these years I have simply hoped to find someone that I can share who I am with, who takes me for the good parts of my life and accepts the fact that I do have some minor neuroses to get past. . .
I don't play games. I speak my mind. I act with passion and intent. I commit and apply every ounce of my heart to the people in my life.
I am not writing this as an apology for who I am and the way I choose to live, and to be completely honest, I'm not sure why I am writing it, or, if you've made it this far, why you're reading it. I do not write this to define me. . . I write this because I am so defined.
I've spent the better part of 13 years wondering why and where and when, but hope doesn't have a time limit, love doesn't have a "Sell-by" date, and if all expectations were met, we'd never have anything to live for. . .
Right now, I live for you, my mystery. . .
Hopefully, one day, someone will want to solve that with me. . .
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” -Oscar Wilde. .
