Thursday, July 13, 2006


I upped my number this morning, guys. And now I'm freaking out.

It was easy for me for a long time to say, "I don't have sex with guys I'm not in love with," because I was in love. And I think it's pretty good, with all the guys I've dated since I've been single, combined with the serious boyfriends I've had in the past, to only have a total of four. But that doesn't console me much.

It's the implications I'm concerned about. It's not that I don't want this guy as a boyfriend, I actually like him a lot and he's really sweet to me. It's just that the idea of a boyfriend freaks me the fuck out. I came so close to spending the rest of my life with the wrong guy. I'm so scared that the next guy I commit myself to will end up turning into husband material that I get all neurotic.

In the hyper-analytical perfectionist mindset I've created for myself, I can't see myself spending the rest of my life with this guy, and so I refuse to spend six months with him. Is this healthy? Perhaps not. It's not rational to require that a guy be husband material for me to take him seriously when I'm twenty-one years old.

I know myself, and I know how fast and hard I fall once I allow it to happen. I know that breakups are no fun and neither are dead end relationships. I know that I don't want to commit myself to a guy who's great for now when I'm twenty-one because I may miss out on the guy who will still be giving me butterflies when we're eighty-three.

I'm having all of these conflicting ideas about what sex really means to me and what I want and who I am and where I'm going. I don't know how to proceed from here. I'm so confused.

And this is not fun.


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