I feel faced with a few insecurities. A few flaws, I guess. Vicki and I were talking and it came out that all of my good soul-searching came in Vancouver, and now that I'm in a slightly less productive or fertile environment, I am seeing the ugly parts of myself instead.
I think I'm extremely scared of being alone, but even moreso, I'm scared of settling. At some point, I'll just decide that being married is more important than being happy, and I'll marry whatever guy is in front of me at the time. The Idealistic Rachel Roellke says that will never happen, I am far too perceptive and rational for that kind of thing. But in talking to a somewhat jaded former counterpart last night, I hear him saying he's ready to settle. Maybe that's me in eight years. Ready to settle. Ready to have kids and put my art on the back burner and watch TV and have a house. I'll write on the weekends. Right? God, that sounds awful. I want the writing, the art, the photography, the singing to all be a part of my life, an integral part of my relationship and my life and the lives of the people I care for. If I can't have that, then it's not worth doing it at all.
Not that marriage is even a consideration right now, lord knows I'm in no position to be thinking about marriage. I'm not opposed, but I don't know who I'd marry. I guess that's the issue. Regardless, I'm just talking about commitments and responsibilities. Decisions about things that I have to make right now, like whether or not I'm going to USC or staying in Fresno for a year (impossible without medication, I've decided).
All of this is on the heels of a frustrating night out in Fresno, in a new tank top and hairdo, waiting for a call that never came (most likely never going to come) and taking care of myself in the old-fashioned Rachel Roellke kind of way. Never healthy, never healthy.
Okay, secondly, and I know this is a very boring blog, but I just must write this (that epiphany on the heels of a rash of "why do we blog?" blogs, all of which made me realize I don't give a fuck about my audience): I am not a good dater. I can't date! I'm horrible at it. I'm jealous and too intense and I can't settle into just having a few dates with someone and being casual about it. I freak out immediately. I've never really thought about it before, but I am fucking high maintenance. Am I that girl? The girl who needs constant reassurance and who will flip out if you have friends that are girls? No, god help me, I'm not that girl. I think I do well with a little bit of reassurance, not constant or overbearing reassurance. I do well with friends that are girls, as long as I know you aren't boning them. I think the reason I freak out is that I don't want to be that girl, but I don't want to be alone, either. I crave intimacy and intellectual stimulation, but it can't be on solely your terms. I did that for a long time and I ended up really hurt. That's rational. A relationship should be on both members' terms anyway. Okay, I've convinced myself. I'm not that girl. Whew.
