I’ve written before about how I’m a huge fan of Postsecret, so much so that the screensaver on my computer flashes pictures of ones that I’ve saved on my hard-drive, ones that I’ve particularly liked. One of the things that I truly love about these cards is that every once in awhile you see your own secrets, your own confessions, in someone else’s handwriting. Someone else has the same problems. Someone else worries about the same things you do.
I absolutely love my girlfriends. I love that they are brutally honest when they need to be, but that they would lie in a heartbeat if they knew it would make me feel better. They’re there for me through everything and I can’t imagine my life without them.
I’m not really the wedding-minded sort; it’s just not where I imagine my life heading. But the one thing I’ve always known is that if/when they day comes, I want to dance with my dad. I remember once, while driving in the convertible, Twist and Shout came on. My dad and I were laughing, smiling, and he joked that it would be the song that we would dance to. That’s just us, we’re goofy enough to actually do it.
I found out about two years ago that I probably would be unable to ever have children. I’m not really sure how I feel about that- I’m not exactly maternal, and I don’t have a fondness for children. Actually, the majority of children disgust me. And though I’ve always thought that I wanted to adopt, I’m not nervous that I at least want the option of choosing.
Is that terrible? Everyone who knows me knows my obsession with my dogs. One of the best parts of my day is coming home to the two of them at the door, leashing them up and heading to the park. They are my center, because really, what’s better than coming home to a tail-wagging, drooling, smiling puppy?
This is probably my worst confession. A few weeks ago I wrote about how I did something that I wanted to write about, but couldn’t. But here it is: I got involved with someone who technically has a girlfriend of several years. I feel horrible about it now, but I’m not sure if I actually regret having done it. We’ve had a rough time sorting out our relationship, if you could call it that. It’s happened on several occasions, and I’m worried that it’s going to happen again. We obviously care about each other, but what could even come from all of this?
It’s probably my biggest fear. Men have no problem with wanting to sleep with me, but more than that?