I don’t think I will ever be comfortable. I have moments of comfort. Lying in bed after a long day of work. Lying in bed after a long day of lying in bed. Lying in bed between different times that I’m lying in bed.

It’s not in my nature to be comfortable. I know too much. I know what it’s like to be miserable, and I know that no matter how happy I may feel, misery is close by. I think I’ve found a medium between the two. I say that now, but in an hour I may be curled up in the corner of my room. I probably won’t, though, because I wrote the previous sentence an hour ago, and I’m still sitting at my desk, and I don’t actually have nervous breakdowns in corners. I think that’s the medium I’ve found. Fearing the worst, and accepting the ordinary.

But would you rather break down from anxiety or be anxious about breaking down? I’ve chosen the former over the past few years, and it’s been for the better. Anxious people are a lot more successful than people that act on that anxiety. I think, for example, that Woody Allen’s career path has had much more of an upward trajectory than that of Howard Hughes. I don’t think that either men have ever felt comfortable, but for whatever combination of reasons, one was fortunate enough to just worry about his worrying rather than acting on it.

My blog posts have veered way too far from topics related to dating. On the same token, they really haven’t at all. It took me a very long time to condition myself to act properly while out with a woman. Now, of course, this did not exist within the vacuum of a series of horrible dates. It was a culmination of my weight loss, heightened self-cognition, life-changing events, and other factors that gradually helped me change the way I conduct myself around others. My personality is the same, and I still generally say the same things, which are mostly awful things. However, the way that I say them, as well as my calmer demeanor and attentiveness to my surroundings, which allow me to act appropriately in different situations, have really helped me find someone great. Two years ago, if a woman asked what I did that day, I would reply quickly and loudly with some self-deprecating diatribe that probably sounded like a monologue from Gilmore Girls if Lorelai hated herself and had severe weight issues that she was not aware of. Today, I would simply say, ‘I woke up, went to work, and then came here.’ It’s a lot more boring, but it doesn’t radiate self-hatred and leaves no room for immediate rejection.

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