I am intelligent, independent, well-read, responsible, and I have a great sense of humor. I can talk about anything, and I can also talk about nothing and make it sound like something.
If I were a guy, women would be launching themselves at me in great numbers. They would be camping on my doorstep, begging me to father their children. However, I am a girl, and the exact same qualities that would make me an attractive man cause guys to run screaming in the opposite direction.
There are women out there with with more unprepossesing features, more prodigous butts, and bigger thighs than I do, and they get guys. I’m not mocking the members of my gender but some of those women are ugly. They have no trouble finding boyfriends because they know how to treat guys. They make men feel like men.
I make the average man feel like a worm.
The problem is not that I am intelligent, independent, well-read, funny, and confident. The problem is that I am more intelligent, independent, well-read, funny, and confident than the average guy. Ok. Let’s not pull any punches, than most guys!
My boyfriend is waay above the average guy and two notches above me *not false modesty*. We’re having trouble with our relationship because we’re very different. Who ever said opposites attract was right. It’s the sticking together that’s questionable.
I think that there are two kinds of people in an ‘opposite’ relationship. In our case, the regular person (him), and abbey (myself, of course!).
The regular-slash-normal person moves in a straight line, like a thick black pencil mark across a clean white sheet. Everything about him is neat, systematic, comprehensible; everything he does has a beginning, a middle, an end. Matters initiated are finished. He knows where he is at any given moment. He wakes up in the morning, showers, dresses, has breakfast, then goes off to the office. He puts in a good day’s work, and when night falls He goes home, has dinner, watches television, writes some pleadings and goes to sleep. Sometimes he goes out, dines at a restaurant, sees a movie. The variations do not disrupt the daily routine; they fall neatly into place, requiring only minor adjustments. He is an organized and efficient doer. He knows how to get from point A to point B, and from there, to any point on the alphabet. He is logical, well grounded, unfailingly rational. He is a firm believer of the law of cause and effect; he is confident that at any given moment, with exact data, he can predict where things will go. When he glances at his watch, it is to confirm that he is on schedule, and to orient himself towards his next goal.
Then there’s Abbey. Me. I don’t proceed in a straight line; it is a vortex that sucks me in, kicking and screaming into the new day. Only it doesn’t feel like a new day, it tastes kind of stale and moldy. I am twisted, skewed, chaotic; I know I’m somewhere in the middle of something, but I have no idea how I got there or where the hell I’m going. Matters initiated are abandoned, and before long I have a collection of dangling beginnings.
I catch myself wondering where I am, what day it is. I wake up in the morning, stagger out of bed, look at my watch and scream. I always feel like I’m chasing something but I never quite catch it, and whe I think about it, I don’t exactly know why I’m running either. It’s like Alice In Wonderland; it takes all the running I can do to keep in the same place. If I want to get somewhere else, I must run at least twice as fast. And no matter how terminally punctual I am, I feel like everyone’s gone and left me behind.
I am spontaneous, combustible, and possibly mad. I do things which I know will probably make me feel guilty and stupid afterwards, but I do them anyway. I know that an immense casm yawns between point A and point B. Cause and effect doesn’t hold. Everything is governed by the uncertainty principle.
My boyfriend and I are the exact opposites. I guess we’re sticking together because, though he might never admit it, we can never know everything about the behavior of one particle, much less the bazillions of particles that make up, say, a mote in our eye. How then can he pressume to make accurate predictions about the future. How can he not say that him and I might work out.
For me, nothing is preset. The rules are malleable. I decide where I want to go, and when I get there, I don’t have to stay, if I don’t want to. Getting somewhere isn’t even the most important thing anymore. What matters is the going. I’m ok, for now.
Steady lang. *Love you babe*