That's it. I give up.
I am 32 years old, and I only know how to admire from afar or endure unwanted advances from awkward creeps.
I remember when I was 25 that little Ashley accused me of having given up on finding a man. I was livid. At the time, there was still a glimmer of hope, a possibilty shining somewhere out in my world that there was, in fact, someone suited for me. We would somehow magically cross paths and somehow our romance would begin.
Yeah, that hasn't happened. Don't think it ever will.
So, I give up. I don't know what to do without going completely outside of who I truly am - and I don't ever want to find someone who wants some artificial, carefully constructed version of myself. I've considered online dating - so many people suggest I'm not REALLY looking unless I'm online - but I never had good experiences when I was online.
Call me old fashioned. I believe two actual, physical people should interact instead of basing initial perceptions on a few words and a picture on a computer screen.
The only men in my life that were damn near a perfect fit to who I want to be with not only were not interested in being anything more than friends, but also one passed away and the other is incommunicado in California. At one point, remembering them gave me hope because at least I had some sort of connection with a man. Now, it just haunts me.
It's done. I'm done. No more disappointment. No more disallusionment.
