A Little Cup of Cyanide

A few nights ago I got a rather interesting offer. If you could only have heard the conversations that followed. Have you ever wanted something for a really long time, then someone offered to give it to you, and you chickened out at the last second? Well, not so much chickened out in my case. I thought the person offering was joking. But after I realized it was completely serious, I had a good chance to get the offer back. This time I had time to chicken out, and decided to take the offer a little too late. So the offer kind of vanished again. So, that’s all I can think about now. How could I be so stupid and not just say yes right then and there? I would kick myself, but I’m not that flexible. The last thing I need right now is to pull a muscle. I could get someone else to kick me, I suppose…

I don’t know, though. I’m not a trusting person. Everything is a conspiracy of some sort, and there is always an ulterior motive. It takes me forever to get to know someone well enough to even talk to them, let alone actually trust them. Accept that fact or not, that’s just how I’ve always been, and you’re not going to change that. So when you tell me to trust you, you’re probably wasting precious air that could be wasted on something much more useful, because it really doesn’t matter what you say. Yet, it really wasn’t an issue of whether I trust him or not. For some completely unfounded reason, I trust him. More than myself, actually. I have absolutely no problem with his ideas. I’m the one that’ll mess everything up.

It’s strange. Little Miss Drama Machine moves out, and I suddenly have way too much to worry about. I think I needed her around to make my life seem boring. Why isn’t my room protecting me anymore?