I'm an idiot.

This isn't my flash drive, but this is pretty much what mine looked like at 8 AM this morning after I picked up my computer and didn't bother to take extra caution, knowing that my flash drive was stuck in the USB port. So now it's bent. And it won't read. My dad offered to have someone at work look at it, but I someone at school told me that the technology department will do the data recovery for free. I think I may have them look at it first since it won't cost anything and it'll be easy to have done. So yeah. It's a little bit irritating to say the least.

Not again.

I have an acquaintance getting married next month and tonight I found out another friend is engaged. See, I was right with an earlier post - winter is the season of love. It's almost sickening. It would be if I didn't love the people getting married. As it is, it's still nauseating. And depressing. At least for those of us who are three years single this Thanksgiving holiday. Ah yes, the joys of single hood are many most days. But those "most days" are feeling like less and less the older I get. Soon, they'll just be "days" and then "less days". In the south, it's not uncommon to get married young, so I guess I feel like I'm fast approaching old-maid status. I see myself in thirty years as the crabby, accountant who lives alone with like twelve dogs. Or if I'm lucky, it'll be twelve horses and three dogs. But we'll see. Prospects are slim, and although I tell myself they'll get better after I graduate and get into the "real-world" (whatever that is) the prospects will be much larger. But I'm not buying my own bullshit. So yeah. It's three AM and I need to finish this last question for my auditing case that's due tomorrow so that I can go to bed and get up to go to class and start my daily grind all over again.

Auditing.

Studying blows. Fully. Substitute the Red Bull for a coffee drink of some sort and they pretty much nailed me in this picture. Minus the blond hair of course.

I intimidate men.

It's totally unintentional of course. But I think I do. I was talking with a friend of mine tonight, and I mentioned that I thought that I intimidated men, and she agreed. She said I'm intimidating period. I still don't know whether I should be worried about it or not.

Don't get me wrong, I take pride in the fact that I'm not a push over and I'm not an airhead.

I don't take crap from anybody. I speak my mind. I don't apologize for my opinions. I have high expectations. I like to get dirty. I like to work hard. I like to push myself. I'm can't accept mediocrity. I'm intelligent. I'm sarcastic. I have a black belt. I drive a truck. I'm loud. I stand tall. Hardly anything gets to me. I'm driven. I'm intimidating. And I'm okay with that. It keeps those that aren't worth knowing away. But it also keeps guys away. Which is a problem sometimes.

Anyway, that's my pondering for the night. I found the quote above on google and I really liked it. Sometimes I just find things that strike a chord, and this one did. It might become my mantra. So yeah.

Been a while, hasn't it?

I suppose this is where I go to think things through. To vent. To express. So yeah, I'm here again.

There are ten people in my house. Ten. Not including me. I'm number eleven. There are also three dogs, two cats, two guinea pigs, a rabbit, and a hamster - at least, I think it's a hamster. It's like living in a three ring circus. It's also like living in a house with barely enough space for everyone. Oh wait, that's actually what it is.

I've been relegated to sharing my sister's bed because my grandmother's in mine. I assume my aunt is in my brother's, my cousin is on the couch, my other cousin is probably with my aunt, my brother's fiance is in the living room turned her bedroom, while her son is in the media room turned nursery. My parents are of course in their own room. I still don't know where my brother is sleeping, but I assume that it's with his fiance. It's a mess. Not that I mind, because really, I don't. I love having my entire family in one place because it's not something that happens everyday.

Unfortunately, that means I have no place of my own. Which I don't mind, unless I need to decompress - which is exactly what I need to do. I just finished up two summer courses on Wednesday, and come early Saturday monring - and I'm talking 5:45 AM early - I'll be on a plane to Haiti. For eight days. After which, I'll arrive back in the states just in time to drive back to school, go to bed, and get up to attend the first day of class. So needless to say, I've been a little bit stressed out. And by a little bit, I mean a lot. So much so that I've had daily stress headaches, I had a minor day-long panic attack on Tuesday, and I'm forecasting no sleep tonight.

I'm currently holed up in the library - which is more like an office and less like a library - because it is literally the only room unoccupied that has a door. Lame. But necessary. I'm exhausted, but my mind continues to race, and I suppose I could take something to help me sleep, but let's face it - it's almost four in the morning and I should be up and moving about nine. Besides, the chances of waking someone up, even if it's just the dogs, by looking for something in the pitch black kitchen are too high to risk. I'd feel bad if I woke my cousin sleeping on the sofa a mere fifteen feet from the kitchen.

So yeah. I think I'm going to pop in some Boy Meets World and call it a night. Or a morning. Whatever.

Agreed.

I found this on the internet somewhere. I don't know exactly where it came from, but I like it. I agree with it.

It's that time of year.

You know the one. From about mid April until late August, it's that time of year. Not spring, not summer, but the season of love. It's the time of year the either solidifies a relationship or kills it. Sometimes they remain unchanged, but most times they do. It also means that - for people my age - it's marriage season. Yes, that dreaded, awful time of year where the couples that have been hovering in front of you for the past year, or two, or ten, finally tie the knot. And it's sickening. And sweet. But mostly, it leaves me thinking.

I'm single. Which is either totally unbelievable considering how normal I am [no, really, I'm almost cookie cutter all American girl...almost], or totally believable considering the level of crazy that is my life most of the time. Maybe a combination of both. But what I've really come to realize this season, as I watched a couple that I've know a couple years now finally tie the knot, is that the true reason that I'm single is because I just haven't found him yet. I don't know who he is, but I do know this. It'll be right. And I'll know it.

I've always kind of just known when it comes to things. I knew what kind of car I wanted when I started driving, and even though it was slow in coming, I got it. I knew what prom dress I wanted as soon as I came across it on the rack. I knew what college I wanted to go to after seeing one ad in a magazine. I knew what I wanted to major in after one semester in the introductory course. I knew who I wanted to intern with after the initial office visit and without having gone to any others yet. And I know that when I finally meet That Guy I'll just know. Maybe not right at first, because I'm not sure I believe in love at first sight, but after getting to know him a bit, I will know. Because that's just part of who I am. I know things.

But I don't think this is the point of the post. The point is that I'm bombarded, on all sides, everyday, with the idea that coupleness is key. Commercials. TV shows. Movies. Magazines. The internet. It's all over the place and recently I've been really down about my current status. But I'm working on moving on. I've hit points like this before, and I know it will pass, but at this point, it's depressing.

I came to the ultimate reason as to why I'm single. And I'll post it. It's been sitting as a note draft on my facebook for months, so I figure I'll share it. Here you go:

I can't date. I can't.
I'm too much of dreamer.
I don't spend enough time in the real world, so despite everything around me saying that it's foolish, I still believe in that fairytale.
The one where the whole universe conspires to bring that someone into your life and everything just clicks.
You just know.
There doesn't need to be any big climactic scene, just real life, real real life.
One day you wake up, turn over, and he's there.
And all you can do is grin like a damned fool because there are no words.
There are no strings of letters and syllables that could explain the magnetism between you and him, the intense yearning in your chest, in your soul, to stay as close as possible - to crawl into his skin with him, be a part of him, just as he is inexplicably a part of you.
Expressions do nothing to illustrate the aching in your fingers and arms thinking about him, longing for a touch, an embrace; they cannot adequately portray the tingling in your skin as you remember the caress of his lips and the sweep of his fingers down your body; and they lack the depth to describe the heights to which your entire body soars when he stares at you with those eyes, those deep, soulful orbs, that fill with nameless emotions so thick you begin to wonder whether it's all just a dream.
Nothing could possibly begin to convey the excitement and contentment coursing through your veins and churning so violently in your stomach that you think you might be sick - and that's only if you don't end up in tears first, from both joy and earth shattering fear because something  so good, so pure, so wonderful couldn't possibly last forever.
And when he opens his eyes and smiles at you through heavy lids and sheet indentations on his face, it's like you've entered free fall.
Suddenly there's nothing, nothing at all except the emotions that you're trying so desperately to hide because your eyes are cast back over your shoulder waiting for that other shoe to drop.
The one where you learn something that changes everything, and not for the better... but then he touches your face. A soft, tender, almost tentative brush that both soothes the unsettled feeling and burns across your skin, and when you meet his eyes, they're filled with - with what?
It doesn't matter.
The smile tells you everything you need to know at that moment.
He's happy.
And with that one short realization, the feelings and emotions that had been threatening to boil over are slowed to a simmer.
He's happy.
It means that he's not disappointed that you're the first person he saw when he woke up.
And that says a lot about a man.
It means that he wants you there, beside him, tangled hair, sleepy face, and knotted stomach.
It means that he loves you and that all of those unexplainable, over-the-top, make you sick and euphoric simultaneously feelings aren't just stuck in your body; they're exploding in his as well.
And then, and then.
And then, being unable to contain himself as well as you had, he leans forward and touches a brief, but lingering kiss to your lips, igniting the powder keg that is your chemistry.
He loves you, that you know.
And that's all you really ever need to know.
Everything else is just details.

So there it is. That's why I can't just date any guy and why I'm still single.

My expectations are through the roof. My imagination has run so wild with this that I almost feel like there isn't a guy out there who will ever meet them. Or maybe it's not the guy. Maybe it's me. Maybe a part of me - a large part of me - is terrified that this isn't what love will feel like. I think that's the biggest issue. I'm abso-fucking-lutely scared shit-less that I'll never find this. I'll never find someone that I'll feel this way about. And nobody will ever feel this way about me. So I don't try. Maybe that's it. In fact, I'm almost sure that's it.

But really, what do I know? I'm just a totally average, slightly insane, overly hormonal, well educated, single, twenty-something female with barely enough life experience to fill a coffee cup.