Originally, this post started out with me writing about friendships, and how most of them fail due to actions of both parties, although most people like to blame it on the other person. I’m a firm believer in accepting the fact that I am human, far from perfect, constantly making mistakes. I am awesome and weird. I like to think I’m unique, or at least as unique as one can be nowadays. I am one of a kind.
I don’t do well on my own. It’s taken a long time for me to admit this to myself. For some reason, there’s a certain stigma attached to the idea that someone can’t be alone. I don’t care anymore. I can’t be honest with myself or anyone else if I don’t admit that.
I’m going to start my period on Monday. If you’re uncomfortable with this knowledge, I suggest you leave now.
Do you want to know how I know? For one, I recently went back on birth control, as a way to regulate my extremely random cycles. The other way that I know, is because in a failed attempt to take apart our Brita pitcher for cleaning this morning, I began to cry and also rage, wanting to throw it through a window and be done with it.
Last night my husband mentioned to me that we received the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. A few years ago, this would have bothered me. I would have been upset that he announced it to me, as well as that he felt the need to even look at it. Most of you probably realize, as a subscriber to Sports Illustrated, the Swimsuit Edition is automatically included. We don’t pay extra for it. We don’t go out of our way to make sure we receive it. And if I just happened to throw it away, he wouldn’t miss it.