I am obsessive. I do not like that and hide it fairly well. Too well, actually.
I am easily attached. I have learned to control this day to day for the 99%. But you’re in that pesky little one, aren’t you, fucker?
I am extremely selective. In light of my overboarding tendencies I have outlined above, I take precaution to lessen my chances of utter and complete emotional decimation by picking a small amount of organisms to allow myself to grow fond of. Because that fondness grows like a Jumanjian jungle once the dice are rolled. No three or eight to escape coming from my hand. Unfortunately, all of my picks thus far are experts at rolling those magic numbers.
I look and look and look before I leap. But then I leap. Without my chute. I don’t even know where to buy one, honestly.
I do not talk. I write. I’ve talked to those picks. It’s gotten me nowhere but to the bottom of those lonely pits where the sneaky hate spirals abound. So I shall resolve to shut my trap. Except for in cases where I must engage in the horrid tongue of Small Talk to those ridiculous things called Colleagues and Peers that one must keep in good graces with “to get anywhere in this industry, see? shakes cigar”
Oh my God in Heaven, I want to scream. Come here. Be mine. You are a pick that cannot go wrong. You’re fucking perfect. One in three isn’t so bad, right?