My eyes hurt.

The air is poisonous with the little particles that irritates.

It shouldn’t happen, but it is here.

Allergy season.

It’s going to suck.

* * *

Time to get down to it. Time to get down to business.

The last week of work is coming up and then it will be break until the next year

Next year, what to expect? I don’t know.

Will it be the year of transition instead of this stalled hesitation? Will it be a very transformative year? Will I shed this little skin that I have and embrace my new one? The new me?

What will happen?

* * *

So arbitrary for me to just wait until a yearly marker to make the change. Maybe it is just an excuse or a psychological game that a new beginning marks a new beginning for me.

One door closes and another one opens.

So arbitrary.

* * *

Age.

Is it a number to gauge things by?

A max and min range of in-betweens that should fit — or should it just be that hey, I like you, you like me. Let’s make this work.

Or are we psychologically predisposed to think that if they fall within or out of a certain range that it shouldn’t work, or it wouldn’t work because society frowns upon it.

I don’t’ know.

There’s a part of me that wants to make the effort, to see where it can lead.

But then there’s that other part of me that worries, the feels that I am taking away their impressionable 20s.

That was a my reasoning with Classy Vulgar and in a way, it still holds true.

But there’s a part of me that thinks that it may work if we both go in understanding what it is and if we want the same thing out of it.

‘Cause Match ain’t doing shit for me right now.

* * *

Go with my gut.

And I don’t know what my gut is telling me.

It tells me to ask if she’s flirting or not, that’s all I know. After that, it doesn’t know much at all.

Typical.

* * *