Why I Might be Crazy

As I watched the Vikings game today, I thought about how shitty it must be to be a place kicker in the NFL.  A lot of times, your team will run out the clock putting all their trust, hopes, and dreams on you to put it between the uprights.  You get one shot.  One moment can drastically change your life.

I might be crazy.  It’s like the episode of the Twilight Zone where everybody’s face is jacked up except for that one woman, who’s gorgeous by our standards, but they keep telling her that she needs to get plastic surgery.  Yep, it’s that kind of crazy.

I keep hoping that there’s a woman out there who can tell me she loves me without completely betraying my trust.  I’ve been told that it was my fault for not satisfying her needs, or that “it just happened,” or I was being unreasonable because, based on some technicality, we weren’t boyfriend/girlfriend.

I feel like I’m the crazy one because there are people out there who wonder why I’m not married, tell me I’m a catch, and say all kinds of nice things about me.  But for some reason, the women I’m attracted to make me feel like what I bring to the table isn’t that special.

I feel crazy because I’m starting to think that saying I love you is one of the worst things you can say to a person.  Those who know don’t talk and those who talk don’t know.  When someone says that they love you, I’d really like to believe them, but I don’t.  Just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.

I might be crazy because I thought that being in love was enough for someone to want to be in a relationship with you.  Apparently it isn’t.  I guess this is like Junior High all over again.  You gotta pass her a note that says, “Will you go out with me?  Check yes, no, or maybe.”

I might be crazy because if you’re with me, I’ll probably assume that you are going to run off on me.

It’s the knee jerk reactions.  I recently called my X (yes, we’ve started talking again) and she didn’t pick up.  Usually she turns off her phone when she’s going to bed, so I was surprised that it rang and she didn’t answer.  But the knee jerk was this:  Instead of thinking, “maybe she’s asleep,” I thought, “She’s probably with some guy.”

I can look at a picture of a group of people and tell if anyone in the picture has a crush on anyone else.  In the past, I’ve used this skill to determine whether or not my girlfriend has been cheating on me.  And I’ve been right every time.  It’s just like Spiderman says, with great power comes great responsibility.  I gotta figure out how to deal with this superpower.

I wish that one day someone will look at me and tell their friends that I’m too happy to realize how miserable I am, rather than the other way around.

It would be different if I wasn’t constantly hearing from my female friends about their loser boyfriends and how they won’t even take them to the movie they want to see or call at decent intervals.  It would be different if I didn’t see these amazing women settling for these nothing guys.  It would be different if I could just take every cheating, ignorant, overly aggressive, “bad boy” aside, smack them upside the head and tell them they’re making me look bad.  But the reality is that they are the ones who make me look good.  But still either not good enough or too good to be true.

Doc Brown and Marty McFly taught me about the space-time continuum.  One moment can change the course of history.  And sometimes I just want to hop in my Delorian and go back 10 minutes before she kisses him and tell her that she’s throwing it all away.  But I shouldn’t have to.  She’s not an idiot.  She, like a drug addict, took full stock of me and our future together and still decided to get her fix.

And that one moment changed everything.