Warning: personal post.
The trouble with being single is that everyone thinks you’re upset about being single. I read something not too long ago, and paraphrased, it boiled down to: “I’m not willing to settle for someone I know is just settling for me until someone he really wants comes along.” This is exactly where I am right now. When you’re in your late teens, early twenties, and you’re like me – you’re not the kind of girl who turns boys’ heads – you allow yourself to feel inadequate, and you try to change, and you let the cruel words of the boys you’re dating get under your skin. But you get to a point where you realize that there’s no changing who you are, and anyone who doesn’t appreciate exactly what you bring to the table – someone just looking for a girl to keep on the side – doesn’t deserve one nanosecond of your time. It’s not about being picky; it’s about wanting a true connection, and not trying to force one where there’s not a glimmer of hope for one. It’s about concentrating on what you want out of life – and for me, that means writing. And, unfortunately, it’s about fielding the concerned exclamations of people who tell you that finding a boyfriend is the most important thing in the world.