I had an epiphany last night: I have no business trying to get anyone else romantically involved in my life until I get it at least slightly more in order.

Yeah, it’d be great to be seeing someone, for all the obvious reasons (sex, companionship, someone to love, an excuse to get out of the house) in addition to the less obvious one of it’s cold in my apartment, and blankets just ain’t cutting it.

But really, the only thing I’ve got to talk about to people is how upside down and inside out my life has been for the last six months, and that’s really not the most enticing story. “My life is chaos.” “Oh, let me fuck you right now!” Yeah, not so much.

The fact that I’d also have to explain why I have gauze taped to myself is another problem. And as much as it’s said that Chicks Dig Scars, they usually only dig them when there’s a cool story, usually involving extreme sports. Appendix scars are not quite so cool.

So I think I’m just gonna own my discombobulated loserdom for a while. Try to straighten out my life (well, in most ways) before I go off trying to drag someone else into it. And really, it’s not like anyone’s been aching to drag me into theirs, so it’s not really a problem.

Now if Angelina Jolie shows up naked at my door and says I have to fuck her right now or the world will explode, well, I’ll certainly do my part for the preservation of humanity.

Otherwise, I think a couple of months of not worrying about this bullshit and just try and put the pieces of my life back together.

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