Tiny Little BOMB...

Sometimes I wonder if I do it to myself. These relationships I allow myself to enter into. The high school teacher. The pizza delivery guy. The guy that made decorative yard art for a living. The 26 yr old mall cop that lived with his mother. Really? Wtf. I have this oh high and mighty list of what I'm looking for in a man.

• Has a job with some sort of career goal in mind.
• Has a roof over his head. That he pays for in the form of rent or mortgage. Preferably not with his parents.
• Is attractive.
• Wants to get married at some point in the future.
• Knows what he believes in.
• Accepts me for who I am.
• Wants children.
• Likes dogs.
• Is funny.
• Has a decent car.

Now, I don't think these are really high standards. If anything I feel as though they are at a level that a normal guy can attain them. However, I keep allowing myself to enter into these pseudo relationships with that jack offs that can't even meet the basic criteria. I always think "I should give them a chance. You never know. They just might be the one." FALSE. If they aren't a normal average guy then they don't make the cut. I lead them on and allow myself to settle into some false sense of security. I don't have to keep trying so hard. I don't have to keep looking. I'm allowed to relax. I want that so bad that I guess I'm willing to allow any asshole to jump into the position temporarily just so I can have a god damn break. Pathetic. Yes I admit, it's clearly not working out for me. Then I proceed to plant some tiny little bomb. Something that seems insignificant at the moment. I may even be up front about it. Then I slowly add gun powder to it. Then I wait. Till the asshole of the moment irritates me enough that I light the match. Or sometimes I'm so wrong for them that they light the match themselves because I make them miserable. Seriously, I allow myself to have relationships that make me and whoever else is in it to be fucking miserable. Dear god. I need therapy. The even fucking sicker part of the whole fucking process is that I understand what I'm doing. Whether it's a blatant plan to implode or a more subconscious move, regardless, it still happens. Then I have to go through some half ass semi depressive period about how I feel about my life and where I'm at in it. I let myself get all down about why it didn't work out, why he doesn't love me, why can't I love him back, why can't I be what he wants, why isn't he what I want. Duh. He isn't the right guy. I keep doing it. Over and over again. I'm like the slow kid trying to put the wrong puzzle piece in the same hole over and over again. I'm just afraid that someday I'm going to get worn out on the game, dump some Elmer's on it and call it done. Ya know? Fuck.