Boys, boys, boys

     Sometimes I get into hormonal ruts where I let people that are extremely insignificant to the meaning of my life affect me profoundly. I wonder why I occasionally spend a day or two at a time compulsively thinking over these individuals when I don't even want to, but I think I already know the answer. Despite being of high intellect—or so I'd like to think—I am still a teenage girl. This is a prime example of the balance I am so desperately trying to prove to you, reader.

     Rationally, why am I fretting over some guy with physical characteristics that I find appealing, that's completely unavailable? Another example, someone that's also completely unavailable (purely coincidence, I don't go after taken men purposely) and is so far away it doesn't even matter?

     Honestly, I just don't know. No matter how many books I read with exceedingly poor grammar (read: Be Honest—You're Not That Into Him Either) that try to promote the idea that I really don't care, that it's just an illusion, I do! It's pathetic to a point, and makes me feel very silly.

     Something good comes from this though. These genuine, normal feelings bring me back down to Earth with the rest of society, and remind me that I am only human too. Like Marilyn Manson once said, I'm just a human writing about how to be human, and the fucked up people in my life are already so to the extreme that they don't need to be turned into characters.

     Thank you for everyday for complicating me, boy toys. I hope my husband—if I am ever so blessed—one day makes up for all the drama and aggravation you've caused me.