It's just … I don't know what more. I have no idea what else to do with my life. Try as I might, I don't really have a long-term plan or goal. My dad will tell me that I need a plan. It's only … for what? I've no clue.
I don't have tons of causes I feel passionately about. My life is pretty much all work since my social life is non-existent. I'm really good at my job, which is how I ended up doing it. I do admit that getting myself lost in numbers is soothing, and it passes the time, but I wouldn't identify it as a passion. Growing up in the shadows of my uber-successful brothers, being good at math was the only useful commodity I had. I didn't even do that well in school overall. Frequent comments on my report cards included, "disorganized," "talks too much," "talks out in class," and my personal favorite, "unmotivated." We all know that was their nice way of calling me lazy.
I wasn't lazy. It was just … hard to get my shit together. No one understood that though. I was smart enough to do homework. Just not smart enough to turn it in. My impulsivity and awkwardness negated any sort of popularity I might have had. Owen was the captain of the football team. Aiden played baseball. I was a mathlete.
That was not a compliment.
I might be good at crunching numbers, but it doesn't spark thatthinginside me. It relaxes me. It makes the days go by fast, but it brings me no passion. The only thing I feel that way about is … passion. Romance. Love.
The things I'm pretty much totally incapable of figuring out. I mean, I'm thirty. It's not like I'm a kid anymore. Yes, Mom, I know I'm not getting any younger. But … I still just don't get it. Why doesn't anyone want to love and romance me the way books and movies imply it should happen?
I know I'm loved. My parents, my brothers, and even Marley. Sunny the cat loves me. Well, when I have a can of cat food in my hand, he does.
It's not nothing.
But it's not enough.
Me: You're not helping.I should shut my account down.
Three dots wave.
Marley: Don't. This could be good.
Good for what? Pointing out that I'm an idiot when it comes to men?
Let's face it, I'm not cut out to be an influencer, and no one in their right mind is going to take makeup tips from me. I mean, if I ever sat down and actually wrote the romance novel I've been dreaming of writing, then ClikClak would be a benefit to me. Like if even half of the people who are following me went out and bought a book, I'd be golden. ClikClak has literally made authors' careers. If I had a book, then I might be set.
All I have to do is write it now.
I ignore the fact that the last time I tried to write, it was garbage. I haven't been able to pen more than a random tidbit here and there. Not an outline, and certainly not enough for a story.
I take another drink of my vodka cocktail. Okay, it's pretty much straight vodka with a splash of orange juice so I don't feel like a total lush. Mimosas are totally acceptable, so this should be too. I'm fresh out of champagne to make a mimosa, and I need the hard stuff anyway. I'm off work today since I was supposed to be away. Sunny looks at me through squinty eyes, obviously judging my day drinking.
Whatever. He had his nuts removed before he can remember. He doesn't know what heartbreak feels like.
I open ClikClak.
Yeah, so obviously I'm an idiot when it comes to men, as several hundred thousand of you have pointed out. No, I didn't see his hand on her thigh. No, I didn't realize that he was not thrilled to see me—I honestly thought he was just surprised. But yes, I can see it now. Also, I should have clued in when he got totally shitfaced and spent the night on the bathroom floor rather than with me. I guess I thought because I knew him before and because we'd hung out all during COVID that it meant something. Maybe it did and the distance thing was too hard. Maybe I'm just an idiot. Maybe I'm drunk and rambling. I think number three might be the winner, but number two is a strong contender. Anyway, my big romantic gesture was ruined. I'm a viral laughing stock, and I still have no idea how to date someone who's not a total loser. Even though I love romance, I'm not any good at it. I'm an accountant, so maybe that's just not compatible with true love. So yeah, that's where I'm at. If you have any tips or tricks for me, I'm game. ClikClak, work your magic and bring me Mr. Right. Kisses and hugs.
I add my signature “XOXO” to the screen and the appropriate hashtags.
I try to scroll through, but my own video keeps popping up. Sometimes it's a splice, where someone else records themselves watching along. Those are the worst because their judgy judgment is on display.
Then my phone dings. It's a text from Trent. Trent!
What else could he possibly want? I mean, he already screamed at me.
And no matter what he says, I'm not taking him back. I may be lonely, but I'm not desperate.
Okay, I'm a little desperate, but not that desperate.
Trent: You need to take down the video.
I roll my eyes hard enough to strain one of them. I wonder if there's a medical diagnosis for eye strain due to an idiotic male. I scribble on a post-it to look that up. If there isn’t, there should be.
Me: No.
Even though, like ten minutes ago, I was totally gonna pull it down. Now, I'm not gonna pull it down, if only to spite him.
