Two Wrongs make More Wrongs.

I am in a rut. 
I’ve been bummed the past few days because my beautiful, spirited, horny, little cat made a dash for sweet freedom (sweet sex!) and slipped out of my apartment building and on to the streets of Providence.  If you’ve seen her, please email me or call me.  
I have not seen her since Sunday and it has really put a damper on what I suspect has been a slow downward hike for some time.
Sometimes you do not realize that your life is crap until you pick up your takeout for one wearing a sundress without any underwear on and then lie to the delivery man by asking, “Are there a few sets of chopsticks in here?” as you point to your massive bag of sushi. 
Yes, it was a moment straight out of Ms. Congeniality where she orders an Asian feast, only she has more balls than me and told them to hold off on the extra cutlery.  
Where as, I lied to my delivery man because apparently today I care what he thinks of me.  
Honestly, there are better reasons to dislike me than the amount of food I consume in solidarity. 
I had a small “aha” moment recently.
Actually, it was more of an “oh fuck…” moment. 
I know a few of my friends, who also have taken a circuitous approach to their bachelor degree, felt pretty bummed this past May when most of our classmates were graduating and leaving the rest of us feeling like underachieving and potentially permanent undergrads. 
That was their, “oh fuck…” moment.
I felt weirdly okay.
I have this issue where I do not deal with emotional things right away, I get mad several weeks, sometimes months, later and I think that the psychological dump I am in now started in May.
My “oh fuck…” moment should have been back when all my friends were twirling in their gowns and throwing their caps to the height of their student debt. 
Because nothing I do is normal, my moment came one morning when I woke up and thought, “I think my mother had high hopes for me at one point.” 
This thought blossomed in my mind as I fumbled for my underpants in the condemned apartment of a man over ten years my senior.  
As I slipped out the door for my rendition of the fabled “walk of shame” (or what I usually call 10 a.m. on a Sunday) I mused, “I think at one point I wanted more for myself.”
It’s not even entirely the school thing that has given me this sense of failure. I just suspect that my emotions started to go belly up in May as I watched my friends move on to the next phase in their lives as I set up camp in the gutter. 
The other side of my bummed out state is the delayed sadness over all the crap that has happened the past few months concerning myself and the male species. 
Dating has started to feel like my college career: tedious, misguided, disappointing to my parents and accompanied by the feeling of I’m-not-doing-it-correctly. 
I am pretty sure my parents wanted me to be happy; probably with someone who could take care of me and would love me (in that order…), and I think I use to want that too, mostly because I was told that was simply how it works….kind of like how a person “goes to college”. 
There was no debate on these issues in my family. I was to go to school and I would be successful, just like I would meet a nice boy and fall in love.
Apparently these thing just happen for people. 
I am starting to think that college and dating are two things I people lied to me about.
For both I was told how I should go about them, what time I was “allowed” to start them and what I was supposed to gain from both experiences. 
This has set me up for a world of disappointment. 
If I have learned anything from my unending undergraduate pursuit and my drunken escapades with random boys who never loved me, it is that nothing goes as planned.
Sometimes you choose the wrong major, the wrong boy, the wrong bed, the wrong school, the wrong answer and the wrong path. 
Will ever actually finish my degree? Who knows. 
Will stop waking up in the bed of a man who thinks of me simply as, “his little friend”? Probably not.
I know that two wrongs do not make a right, but I’m starting to think my life may be a field test for the exact number of wrongs it takes before it all leads to a right. 
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