There’s this onslaught of casual disregard, like the ease at which we can access each other has made it that much easier to discard one another. We’ve divided our days into the smallest increments of attention, making every second we spend outside propagating our own self-worth a fucking waste and it’s pathetic. People show up months, years later feeling entitled to some modicum of your time, because a modicum is all they were willing to spend to garner it. Fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck anyone who thinks that your time, your feelings, your life is something they can disregard.
Regard it. Regard their cowardice. Regard your self-worth.
So I said my piece to this poor soul on OKCupid regarding this.
I once wrote a thing I was sort of embarrassed about. Then one day I decided to see if being bold would be more fun than being embarrassed.
Are you following along with Forty Days of Dating? If not, you should be.
I have to admit something, dear tumblr. I completely “hate read” the 40 days of dating blog. I hate it. HATE IT. But I can’t look away.
To me, it feels SO forced, so “experimental” that it takes all the fun out of dating. For two people who were friends and starting a relationship it seems like everything the other person does gets on their nerves. The blog is all about how they are on different pages. To me it reads like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole and twisting and twisting hoping you’ll widdle it into a circle.
I am a firm believer that relationships take work but when it’s more work than fun (which is what this sounds like to me) it’s time to walk away. I cringe reading this.
But I keep reading. So I guess they’re winning.
Precisely the conversation I had with someone who shared this the other day (i’d read the first seven days or so at the time). It feels very contrived and self-promotional and meh, I just can’t help but be turned off by it. But probably tonight I will catch up on the days I haven’t read so far for like an hour and a half.
— ~ Date By Numbers
I have conducted rigorous testing on this hypothesis. It is scientifically valid: Drinking less = less stories about that stuff you did because you were drinking BUT ALSO less tears and more feeling awesome about being you in general. There’s some other variables to consider and certainly outliers here and there but researchers tend to agree, drinking is generally why you did that thing that made you upset or sad or sorry.
The mountains loomed in the distance and I counted the scars on my legs, trying to remember every stumble. I had no course. I never did. But wherever it was I was going, I would get there. I would get there by playlists, by long rides, by plane tickets, by passion, by saying I love you, by standing up for myself, by doing what was wrong and then doing what was right, by doing what was selfish and then doing what was noble, I would get there.
I would get there and I would be fine. And then I would be good. And pretty soon after that, I would be lightning.
So when I think about falling in love, I also think about all the things that happened because I wasn’t in love, because there was no one to ask me to stay.