As I'm sure most men know... women are insane. Every single last woman is insane. End of story. And, I'm definitely no exception to that statement.
I think about ridiculous things all the time: If my daughter has so many of my personality traits, will she follow the same path I did? How much of her childhood have I completely screwed up and in turn, how much is that going to cost me for her therapy bill? If olive oil or vegetable oil is so much better to cook with, then why does butter taste so much better? Am I only supposed to eat the things that don't taste good? Does the fact that they don't taste as good classify those foods as "healthy?" Why do I dislike the color pink so much? Aren't all girls supposed to like pink? Does that mean that I am a failure as a female?
Yes, these are the stupid things that run through my head ALL the time. They run through my head in so many variations that, at almost 28 yrs old, it's like white noise now. But, lately, the white noise isn't so easy to ignore.
As stated before, I work from home, have barely any friends here and basically stick to myself and family. While this fact doesn't bother me as much as it did two months ago, it still means I have WAY too much time to think. This is not always a good thing. In fact, in my case it can be a very dangerous thing since I over-analyze everything even when I don't have time to myself. And, what is it that I over-analyze usually? Well, that would be the biggest thing in my life right now... my relationship.
About a week ago, Brendon and I braved the ice covered roads to make a trip to Wal-Mart for food. While standing in line, waiting among the droves of people at the check-out line, we somehow got onto the subject of types of books. I mentioned that I'm not really a fan of romance novels. He then made the statement that he and I basically ARE a romance novel. While the comment was meant to be sweet, I wasn't really too fond of it... mostly because it is a fact. Quiet boy and nerdy girl meet in middle school, she becomes too popular and he takes on the "bad boy" role, she moves away, he starts a family, they grow apart and lead separate lives until one day they are reunited and he finally tells her that he's loved her this whole time, they fall in love and make plans to spend the rest of their lives together... blah, blah, blah.
Okay, I know that sounds so "sweet" and "romantic" to most girls, but to me it sounds generic. I don't read romance novels because they are just that... generic. Boy meets girl, something dramatic happens that tears them apart, obstacles overcome, boy and girl reunite and everyone's happy. BORING. Where's the fun? Where's the excitement? Where are the valuable lessons learned that you carry with you for the rest of your life or the amazing sites you see that lead to captivating stories that are passed down for generations? I don't want to be a romance novel! I want to travel to Italy and gorge myself on pizza and pastries, watch the festival of San Fermin in Pamplona, take diving lessons in Australia, hand out mosquito nets and food in South Africa and paint an elephant in India! I don't want to be generic. I fear being generic.
And then comes the over-analysis: Does he want generic? Is he satisfied with generic? Is that metaphoric white picket fence, four children, steady jobs and dinner on the table by 6:00 enough for him? Does he know that's not enough for me? Better yet, what does he know about me? Does he really know me? Or does he only think he knows me based off of a girl he knew fifteen some-odd years ago? Does he have any desire to do any of those things I mentioned? I'll be in my forties by the time his youngest daughter is 18 - Do I really want to wait that long to do all of those things? Will I still have some spontaneity left in me by that time? Can I put up with or be satisfied with generic until then? I guess there's only one way to find out the answers to these questions. Unfortunately, there's the other part of me that doesn't want to know for fear that the answers may not be what I hope for. Then, the scariest question of all must be asked... Now what?
