“Know that the desire to be perfect is probably the veiled expression of another desire – to be loved, perhaps…”

So, I’m pretty. And relatively smart. I work hard and try to be nice to people.

These things don’t go unnoticed. I get talked to and have poems written for me and whatnot. The trouble is that the very few boys that interest me seem not to, or at least not beyond the pretty part.

I went on a first date with the prettiest boy I’d ever seen this week. We talked for an hour or two and it was going reasonably well (except for the fact I was super nervous and a bit tipsy), and then, all of a sudden, the date was over. I’ve heard little since. Instead of wasting my crazy energy on wondering if he’ll call (no, I think I read his disinterest correctly), I’ll invest it into wondering what is wrong with me. How can I be better?

Despite knowing that it is a toxic exercise, I have been making a mental grocery list of my failings. Here is what I have so far:

  1. Having only nearly-perfect abs
  2. Not being Cheryl or Kristin or Anna or Chris
  3. Living with my mother (Yeah, this one hurts to admit. But hey, I’m applying to medical school, so at least I have a plan, right? Right?)
  4. Insufficient vogue-ing skills (note: challenge accepted.)

Overall, my life is pretty good. I have a job I love and I’m enthusiastic about the career ahead of me. I have good friends and family and a comfortable place to live. (I also spent the better part of this week day-drinking and dicking around on my bike.) The thing is, in the end, all I want is to love and be loved in return and that is a really uncomfortable thing to admit.

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