And here we go again. This time, her name was Jen, and she seemed like a sweet enough person, so I messaged her, she messaged me back, and we hit it off pretty well.

We were both dorks and awkward in the some sort of ways, and we talked constantly about our most embarrassing situations and our worst qualities. After a little while, it occurred to me that this was not something that a relationship could, or should, be built on. So I started digging for something more; maybe there was a common interest we shared?

We had no other common interests. My music is melancholy and meaningful. Her music was, fuck, her music was Miley Cyrus. Her movies were, to put it bluntly, crappy. Your favorite movie is Delta Farce? Really? Whereas I like to curl up on the couch and watch movies until my eyes can’t stay open, she loved to get hammered in dance clubs until the doors couldn’t stay open. We were just too different, and I don’t think she noticed. I went out with her anyway thinking maybe she’d be different in person, which in hind sight was an absolutely horrible idea. It led her to believe that I was still interested, when I wasn’t.

For years, I had been the ignored and rejected, and for the first time in my life, I was the one doing the ignoring and rejecting. It didn’t feel good.

Sorry, Jen. If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m an asshole too.