It's Complicated -- with Epiphany Davis

I wasn't sure what to write about after my last post. I was...am still... very passionate about that. Everything else sort of seemed trivial in comparison. Good thing I don't like politics. That'd make for a boring blog on my part; well written, but not nearly as entertaining...

So. What brought me out of my writing funk? Facebook, actually. It's a wealth of knowledge and a great source of information. But I'm just about tired of seeing the heart icon on my newsfeed. Angelina Jolie is Engaged to Brad Pitt. This is just an example, since Angelina and me aren't exactly on fb basis yet. But I kid you not, it feels like every day someone I do know is getting engaged. I really try to be happy for them.

Like, I try hard to be happy for them. And I'm not bitter or anything. So don't think I'm hating because I'm not in a relationship. If it were only that simple. What bothers me, is that every time I see that status, I can't help but wonder why? My actual thought is usually, ew...why? Because my relationship status is complicated....with myself. I can't want to be married. Clearly, other couples my age aren't having that problem. So they're getting married. And pregnant. On purpose. I know! It's baffling. Husbands and babies are like bronchitis. I ain't got time for that!!

There have been many a night I call my mother, just to make sure I'm doing it right. I mean, because maybe there's something wrong with me...you know? My career takes up way too much of my life for me to worry about having time for some boy...or man. I know people who have been together for 5, 6, 7 years and I suppose that now the next logical step is to put a ring on it. I'm not criticizing those who want to live happily ever after. Who am I to say your love's not real or whatever... Good on ya. But this is about me! As usual.

I just don't understand. that's all. Maybe someone can explain it to me. And while you're at it, help me understand the allure of hosting that parasite for 40 weeks. It makes you sick, it makes you fat, it leeches your nutrients, it's a 7-9 lb tumor pushing on your bladder and kicking the shit out of your ribs. And then once you're rid of it...you still have to take care of the little person for 18 years. That shit cray. Don't hate me. I do love babies. So long as Mommy is near when they start crying =)

the rest is still UNwritten...