I go through these odd dating cycles. I’m a programed machine and sometimes I don’t realize what I am doing until I’m already halfway through my process.

I attempt to “actively date” after the new year, at the beginning of summer and at the start of fall. The last undertake of the year is usually the most dismal. There’s too much pressure, it’s cuffing season. Obviously nothing has ever worked out for me.

I’m already throwing in the towel this year. I’m preparing myself for another sad season.

El Niño and the holidays are on their way. I’m eternally fucked. Do you know what that means? It will be raining cats and dogs and I will be solo, in my underwear, watching whatever Hulu show I have yet to complete, probably eating mac n cheese. I will be going through IG liking all of your photos with you and your boo’s and your little ones around a turkey and then a Christmas tree. Meanwhile I’ll just be curled up, solo, trying to convince myself that not every holiday season will be spent all by my lonesome.

I’m already hypothetically sobbing.

This could all change tomorrow, right, or maybe next week? October? Possibly Nov? Whenever it’s supposed to happen—it’s not happening soon enough.

The trap remix of the tiny violins won’t STFU. Make them stop.