A friend told me recently that I had a problem with planning things. I plan everything years in advance and if something, or someone, doesn’t fit into that plan, I’ll lose interest in them. And while it’s totally fucked up, I know it’s true.
It’s so true, in fact, that I had actually been thinking about it earlier that day. I sat on the bus and contemplated if I would try to date again after I graduated next year, assuming I hadn’t already. My conclusion was that I would, but only if the person was in college, or at least a little established in their careers.
So basically I’m a total asshole.
My last relationship suffered when I went to school. 1,000 miles and 10,000 assignments became too much and we couldn’t make it, but I always thought we could if he had the same workload. I would worry about his future and about mine if we stayed together. Instead of waiting for him to figure it out, I withdrew and we eventually separated. Looking back the whole thing seems so superficial and insensitive, but admittedly a little practical.
I’ve had drafts and checklists piling up since before I can remember. I record everything on paper to make sure I don’t forget who I am, where I’m going and how I want to live. My lists make me feel sane and in control, but I never stopped to think about how other people were being affected by my regimented requirements, or if the perfect person on paper exists at all.
I started this blog escape my emotional dependency and my obsession with security, but by doing so I’ve become a little more aware of my actions, but a lot more stressed and structured than ever before. At this point, I have no clue how I could fix my problems without a plan set in mind.
But maybe I don’t have to know. Maybe, for the first time in my life, I should just live and see what happens. (Probably not, though.)
Side note: I went home and saw some art and some puppies