An early morning drive home

Something had to change. I was already in a funk and used Conor's party as an escape, but between the guy with the girlfriend and Conor in all his glory, I was even worse off than before.

Making the trek home at ungodly Tuesday morning hours, I thought about statistics. Statistics has both dependent and independent variables. I always thought of myself as the independent variable, that if I change enough and tweak enough aspects of my personality, I would find a man. Some weekends I would wake up and decide that I need new pajamas. I need the frilly lacy kind, the sexy kind. I decided that if that part changed, so would the outcome. Another weekend I decided that I had too much stuff in my apartment and I needed to let go of some things to make room in my life for someone else. The karmic purging would yield different results.

But the recent events: bad dates, badly behaving men, and freaking Conor—I am not the independent variable in all of this. I am the dependent variable. It's going to take the right man to come along and impress me for anything to change. It's not me; it's them. These boys are the lowest of the low and I didn't want any part of it. It is these guys who make the rest look bad.

As the sun peaked between the highrises, and I was more exhausted than I could even imagine, I decided to not change myself, but to change the prospects.