I think I'm done with The New Guy. It's time to make a decision. The Decision. I'm not interested. I'm not. But I kind of am. I'm not interested enough. But I'm interested enough to not make a decision. To be indecisive. I'm not sure what to do with him. Where to categorize him. I like him. Enough. But.
I am in love with Mr. Right. But suddenly, suddenly, because we're in love, I crave all this time to myself. Time to paint my nails and watch girl television and veg. Time to accept text messages from The Doctor and wonder why The Married man hasn't e-mailed me back. Time to do my obsessive things.
It's wonderful.
Except that I'm mixed up. I love the constant flow of men, the space to myself, the love. I want to be in love. I want to have my space. I want the constant flow of men?
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