Shameless Sunday is getting rough

So at the suggestion of someone I shouldn’t be listening to I downloaded a dating app onto my phone.
Tinder.
At first it was interesting and a little sad. You check out a minimal profile of pictures and sometimes a short blurb about a person. (Confession, I wanted to use that space to write everything that is wrong with me: I have ADD and a six year old who also has ADD. I’m attracted to unstable people who make me feel better about myself. I have some strange new disease no one really knows about which sometimes makes getting out of bed fucking impossible. I’m a workaholic with two jobs and no savings. I live with my parents.)Click the X if you’re not interested, click the heart if you are. You can limit the ages of people you see. Age is important to me. I’m old. I have my reasons.
I kept seeing all these teenagers with ages of 109 or 112. Dumb shit like that. It just made me want to message them and get their numbers so I could call their moms to rat them out. I mean come on. Don’t be stupid. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Kids are crazy and hormonal and they don’t think about their personal safety. And honestly, why is someone not monitoring all the kids’ phone apps? You can’t just give a kid a phone and expect him to make smart choices. Right?!
The very first guy I hearted and matched with is so stereotypical of everything that is wrong with me. Long hair, both hands flipping off the camera. One picture was just a can of PBR. I’m so serious. I know I suck. I wish I could pretend I made that up.
Anyway, after a week I had collected like 9 matches and I was feeling real positive about myself. People like me. Tinder told me so. Tinder was all these dudes think you’re pretty and I was all I know right. I AM pretty.
Then I wanted more. Don’t ask me why. Pretty wasn’t enough. It was unnerving the way no one was doing anything more than clicking the heart. If I’m so pretty, how come no one was blowing my shit up with messages? Did everybody’s phone break all at the same time?
So I messaged the nicest looking dude I had clicked the heart on up to that point. I might as well have smoked the world’s most amazing weed because I was sooooo paranoid. It was just too much.
The guy was totally nice but he wanted pictures and he wouldn’t let it go. He asked to follow me on Instagram and he wanted my phone number. It bothered me.
It made me realize that I am not ready to date. At all.
Everything he said, all the questions he asked, I couldn’t deal with it. He wanted to message me every day. Guess what Sandra?! People who date talk to each other every day. Ugh. Why do they want to? Don’t they get tired of each other? Am I the only one who would rather take a nap?
Thanks for the exhausting interest but no. I have way too much going on right now to even muster up the strength to get out of bed every single day.
I burned myself with a heating pad this week. I’m not making that up. I was so fucked up on Vicodin and other assorted pills that I slept through the pain of burning myself with a heating pad. My back hurt so much that when I realized I had burned myself I didn’t even regret it. Sure, I regret it now. I regret it Hardcore. Fine. Mega Hardcore. Whatever.
It’s not that I think all dudes are stupid. Some of them are really stupid. And it’s not like I don’t believe in love anymore. I don’t believe in love right now.
I’m a mess and I have some heavy personal shit going on. I want to be able to really focus on myself. I don’t want to be with someone who will want to have an opinion on the important personal decisions I need to make for myself and my future. I don’t want to worry about a hypothetical significant other and his feelings about potentially anything.
So I deleted my Tinder app from my phone. I just can’t be bothered with that shit right now. I know that makes me isolated. I realize that being single and wanting to be single is sad and pathetic. Meh.
Plus, does anyone else think right now is not the time for me to find out if it hurts when I have sex, like it says on the internet symptoms list for venous congestion syndrome? To be honest i don’t even miss sex. Not like I miss that heating pad. I miss it so fucking much. So fucking much all the time. I can’t wait until the burns heal and I can go back to using it.
I think in the end what I really learned about myself from the Tinder dating app is that I still got it. I’m living proof that when life hands a slut a disease, she makes her bed and lies in it for as long as she can.

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