“Working on Myself” = throwing my rancid milk out

I finally spent enough time in my own home to realize that the milk in the fridge was in fact mine and had probably been there since the beginning of the month. Watching that coagulated, festering mess glug down the drain as the garbage disposal ran was oddly satisfying. You see, even this minute act counted towards my current foray into ‘bettering  myself’, ‘finding balance’, and ‘becoming more well rounded’.

I’ve found that I’m not alone in this quest for being a better catch in real life after the OkCupid and Tinder meet up has been deemed a success, a fling, and then a failure. It’s the failure part that launches this personal quest for betterment. And the more I think about it, it feels like a total fucking cop out excuse.

I will be completely and totally honest in acknowledging that my journey of cultivating my innards was solely based on getting pushed away from the most recent beau. (By the way, what the fuck is a ‘bae’? Is it short for ‘babe’? BECAUSE THAT WORD WAS TOO LONG FOR NORMAL CONVERSATION…) He was finding interest in other people because I had become uninteresting.

My life outside of our interaction started to dwindle until it I started to become a devout follower of The Beau. Nobody likes groupies after the tour bus has been unpacked and the acid bender has worn off. When I was younger, this was devastating information. I wanted to be so madly in love and wound up in some other person that the idea I was supposed to have a life outside of their being seemed ludicrous. YOU AND ME FOREVER BABY.

As I get older I realize that I’m happier with more balance. It’s a logical idea. But I can’t help shake the idea that I would not be searching for balance if I hadn’t been forced to. Most of the women I know trying to find balance aren’t doing it because they woke up one morning and said ‘Space is nice. Space is good. Space makes the heart grow fonder. Let’s make some space.’

They got pushed into it because the beau of the day still has his OkC or Tinder profile and those notifications are becoming more and more frequent. They are ‘looking for balance’ because he doesn’t seem to find the time to hang out as much as he used to, but for no apparent reason. These women are working on self improvement because he flat out said ‘I’m just not ready to be your boyfriend (aka I literally do not want anything to change between us including the sex but if something better comes along, I’d like the option to pursue it and not get blamed for anything by you).”

Yes dickheads, we know what you really mean.

So begins the quest towards being a better person, having more hobbies, spending more time with friends, trying to move ahead at work. But let’s be honest, most of us are doing all of these things because we want Mr. Not-your-boyfriend to realize how amazing we really are and come scurrying back into our arms begging for commitment.

The satisfaction of visualizing taking THEM back into your perfectly cultivated world of delight and joy and friends and hobbies can get you through P90X.

Do you end up actually bettering yourself after the whole fucking charade? Sometimes, yah. But can we just be honest and shallow and admit that your new Monday night drinks with the girls and Thursday morning yoga classes are really just a means to fill your schedule until his number is at the top of your text list?

Really though, keep up the good work. I know from experience that even if he doesn’t come knocking on your door with a bag of chocolate covered almonds and lube, you’ll be better set up to survive the next dude, make less mistakes, and utilize your new found interest in bedazzling to spice up the bedroom.

In related news, it’s fucking pouring outside and my closet somehow lost all remnants of last fall’s staples. I really need to stop throwing things away. Except the milk. That shit was gross.


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