I hate dating. I admit it. I’m a relationship girl. I’d rather fast forward to the sleeping in his t-shirt and making him coffee part… the beginning stages are not my cup of tea.
Sidenote: I sleep in my favorite guy’s shirt. Perhaps that’s why I am not at all inclined to try to work myself into a more agreeable one. Part of the magical beauty of him is that he’s no threat to my freedom. That’s a difficult shirt to compete with.
So when I talked to my darling Rachael today and she told me I was woefully behind on writing, I told her to go find me a 30 day challenge and I’d do it.
J-Not that damn 30 days of truth again, though. I’ve done that twice and still feel naked as a result.
Today marks the painful anniversary of my stupid ass getting on a plane and flying to Puerto Rico for a first date with a (SURPRISE) married man. 8 long years have changed everything about me and I’m still getting to know myself again.
30 days of nonsense is always more about my own soul searching than it is about meeting contracts and deadlines. It’s always more about seeing that I’m not still floating around like a hurricane.
Here we go…