So the applying for Grad School has begun. Oh joy, hold me back. Seriously, though, I am excited. I definitely want to go back to school—I definitely do not want to be a secretary in Mac-town for the rest of my life, completely unacceptable. I just hate all the paperwork. Get this many letters of recommendation, send this many transcripts, put your right foot in and turn it all about. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the essay to convince you are a worthy person. Those are my favorite. “I deserve to be admitted because…” One day when I’m old and it doesn’t matter I’m going to write one of those and say, “I deserve to be admitted because I am a cool person. I’m not dumb.” Wonder how that will turn out. Let you know in fifty years.

Oh what else, I’ve been to Louisiana that was exciting. Somewhere about a fifth of a way through Missouri it occurred to I was an idiot for getting in the car on Friday night and driving to Louisiana. But hey, I never said I was smart. I did say I wasn’t dumb, but that is probably debatable.

So I think I might have an epiphany, it has been awhile so bear with me if this comes out rough. What is it about the proverbial hot stove that keeps people coming back for more? It is a behavior I have witnessed in people over the years, sometimes even in myself. As a child I had only to burn my hand once before I knew not to touch the hot burner again. Why is it, as adults, we can’t seem to learn that lesson? We touch it over and over and get mad at everyone except ourselves when we’re burned. “He’s so dumb” or “she’s so crazy” we tell everyone else. And yet it is our own decision to go back for more. Why? What is it about certain people that keeps us from breaking away? I’ve watched several guy friends fawn over crazy girls (emotionally unstable if you prefer) and get completely torn up by them. Again and again they are hurt but never once do they say “I should stop liking her”. Why?

On a side note why am I always asking why and never finding answers? The stuff of life I suppose.

As a young girl you watch the lifetime movies and laugh at the main characters. The emotional “angst” and the “issues”. It all disgusted me. Why doesn’t she just tell him to fuck off? I asked. Why are girls so dumb? Is it hormones? Loneliness? What is it about men, where are the pros? Do they outweigh the cons? If you’re a male reading this don’t worry, I’m not a man hater—quite the opposite whether I want to be or not. It isn’t logical, definitely doesn’t make sense. Some days it would certainly make more sense (and be more beneficial) to be a lesbian. Doesn’t work like that, though. No matter what I tell myself or how logical I try to be the heart never agrees. I’ve spent the past seven years being logical. The older I get the harder it is to control emotions. I want a handbook. I want everything spelled out. I want all the facts so I can put it all on a very simple, scientific chart and make a well-informed sensible decision. I want a great big red sign that says “HOT STOVE DO NOT TOUCH”.

I grew up a good girl. I was supposed to go to school, get a good job, meet a knight in shining armor and live happily ever after. I went to school, have a crappy job and my knight had everything in common with the knights of old. Including bad teeth and a penchant for taking advantage of young girls. Where was the red sign on that one? I knew better; there was enough history there for me to know not to go drunk over to his house by myself. But I did it anyway. I stuck my whole head in the stove on that one. Then I looked in the mirror the next morning and wondered why I was burned. Why? Where was my vaulted logic on that one? What is it about human nature that makes us so dumb?

Mine is not the only story of the hot stove, nor will it be the last. What really bothers me is that no one ever seems to learn. Again and again we touch the stove. Over and over we cry to each other, holding out the blackened flesh to friends asking to be consoled. It doesn’t make sense. Not that I thought it would. I just thought I would rant a little bit. Maybe I’ll email my congressman and ask him to issue every deserving man in the state a big red sign that says “HOT STOVE DO NOT TOUCH”. At least then I know for sure and would have no excuses except my own stupidity. Maybe instead of a trashy romance I should write a handbook for all the other confused twenty-somethings out there. Too bad I need a handbook for myself first. Maybe I’ll just go back to ordering take-out instead of trying to cook something wholesome on the stove. With take out you never have to worry about burning yourself. Unfortunately you never know what quality you are getting. It’s a trade-off either way. But it isn’t really a decision. At heart, for all my efforts to not be a dumb girl, I am. I don’t make sense, and I’m definitely not logical. I suppose the only option is to get better at treating the burns since I don’t foresee any big red signs to warn me off in the future. I may not be smart but at least I can take care of myself. Thank God for small blessings.

So my first three-day weekend as a working girl has come to a close. I am entering week three of the Atkin’s diet and aside from one very vivid dream about little Debbie cakes I’m doing exceptionally well. I get to eat (which places this particular lifestyle high above all else) but I can’t eat a lot of things. It isn’t terrible—I love meat now as opposed to the past, but I would kill for some noodles or a good piece of chocolate pie. Ah well, my thighs are thanking me (not to mention my chance for diabetes) so I suppose it will all work out in the end. It usually does.

On the good side of things I sent out for GRE registration today. I think I need to go to grad school and go teach at a college somewhere. I like teaching—I think I do an okay job of it. I’m also not cut out to be a secretary. I suppose I always knew that but I thought a job is a job. Live and learn I suppose. I’m not politic, I hate to lie, and I hate being a scapegoat because someone else doesn’t do his job. It irritates me. Some days it infuriates me. Life, you would think I was used to it by now.

I was reading an old story the other night; I think I need to send it out somewhere. It really was an excellent story. I don’t say that often. It could still be better, but unfortunately I’m so emotionally tied to it, it is very difficult for me to edit it at all. It was perhaps a bit to tied to reality for safety’s sake but…that is, in part, what makes the story good. At some point I should have someone not connected to the events read it and tell me if it does anything for them. I might have made a classic writers error in writing too close to the heart. Oops. These things they happen.

That about does it I think. I’m still waiting for my knight in shining armor to come save the day. I think I’ve just about accepted that the knight will come in the form of a small cardboard box with the name “Blue Bunny Ice Cream” on it, but that’s okay. I’ve gotten very good at the independent lifestyle. I’ve even decided I’m not interested in the friends with benefits anymore. Who would have ever thought I would say meaningless sex is no fun. But I have. It was an odd realization, but I suppose I’ve always been a good girl at heart. In general it’s much more fun to cuddle up with someone you care about than have sex with someone you don’t. Dear lord save me I’ve turned into a sap. Obviously I need to spend less time with my beaver cleaver family. I’ll let you all know when my newfound morality runs dry.