Chances are good that if you know me (and if you're reading this, you probably do), you know that I have a deep and abiding love of Free Time. Free Time in all of its manifestations--really, just time spent accountable to no one but myself.
As I find myself looking toward being in a "relationship" (that word kind of squicks me out a little), I wonder, how much compromise on my Free Time am I willing to make? Would I really be better off in a trailer full of cats, shaping their turds into jewelry and selling it on the side of the road? Can I really inflict my lame-ass hobbies on someone else, and trust that they won't a) resent me or b) make fun of me?
I don't know. I have limited experience with all things Relationshippy. I'm happiest when Bouncing Between Boyfriends
(side note: PERFECT name for my band)
and talking about how I've been done wrong, or have done someone wrong, or am making fun of what someone has done wrong. I've never been happy in a relationship. Mostly my fault.
Sometimes my fault.
(usually his fault)
I'm beginning to wonder if it's not what I thought it was, my penchant for singlehood. What if it's not Terminal Unmarriability--what if it's fear?
It might be.
Fear of failure (Atychiphobia)
Fear of being alone (Monophobia)
Fear of bald people (Peladophobia)
I ate chicken nuggets for lunch today, and am having a hamburger for dinner. Five more days until I
Kiss Meat Goodbye.
(side note: questionable title for my band's first album)
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