Writing would be so much easier if I was more of a poet and less of a critic.
I really am anti-social. Not so much in practice, but when I get confronted by too many people/ideas at the same time, a large part of me wants nothing more than to curl up and be alone for a while. There's a point where it's increasingly hard to stand being around people anymore, and I think I reach that point easier than most.
Personal questions also bother me. It's not so much that I mind answering, more that so often I don't know the answer. It bothers me that I don't know myself so much that I can't find responses on a subject that I should know the most, considering how much time I spend being me.
Like why am I so picky when it comes to guys? I've been politely propositioned by two perfectly acceptable males in the last couple of months, and turned them both down. Why? I can't even explain. Maybe I'm waiting for an impossibility. Maybe I just went with my gut instincts. Maybe I just don't care to do anything about a pattern of singleness that's worked out so well so far.
On a contrasting note, warm, summery weather has blown in an air of anticipation into those of us who wait for June. I'm increasingly looking forward to summer. No school. No tech. No more hassling with the flighty complications that come with being a teenage high school student. More time to just lay around and be myself. More time with friends that I've been forced to have been distanced from. I'm quite eager for the change.
35 days.
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