I hate going to the doctor, but The Sickness demands attention. We're going on three weeks of symptoms, and I don't know about you, but I feel like that's about 20 days too many.

Insert your own jokes here: my newest symptom is trouble swallowing.

To make myself feel better, I have temporarily invented a relationship with a celebrity in my fever-ravaged brain. Here, let me play it out for you as the super-hot Henry Cavill nurses me back to health:

I know, Henry, that's pretty obvious. Sadly I'm not feeling well right now.

Aren't you sweet, thank you.

I don't know, it's a genetic gift, I suppose. You're pretty too.

Oh, Henry, I'll try.


Admittedly, I do feel a little better after that whirlwind romance.

I've reached that part of a nasty cold where my voice is raspy, and mucus has become something of a problem. I'm just putting that out there in case this post makes no sense. I'll throw cold medicine under the bus. I have no problem assigning blame there.

I've been feeling guilty over not posting, and not coming up with an idea to attract readers to this blog. I'm thinking it's possible I'll just have to stick to being mean and hilarious. Because a girl should play to her strengths. And we all know I'm hilarious. And mean.

True story.

Lately I've been thinking about the nature of being confident. I'm ridiculously confident. I believe I'm wonderful, and I'm fully prepared to tell anyone that. No, I'm not going to cure cancer and no one is ever going to accuse me of being a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize. My confidence comes from genuinely liking who I am. I have a wonderful, funny (sometimes even intentionally) family. I'm smart and while I may not win any beauty contests, I like my face.

But is my confidence keeping me single? I know my particular brand of shouting my awesomeness is off-putting for some people. Hell, sometimes it's even off-putting for me. I'll leave a party or an evening with friends and have to go through a mental checklist to determine if I was charmingly confident or if I just made an ass of myself. But that alone can't be it.

There's all sorts of conventional wisdom that says in order for anyone to love you, you've got to love yourself. Okay, check, so....

And then there's the nonsense that says smart women need to play dumb. I'm not fond of that. If I'm doing something really dumb, it's never calculated. It's accidental. The rest of the time, I'm much more fond of being the girl who knows the right answers. Ad nausea. I realized this point too is probably off-putting. If I could help it... I probably wouldn't.

How humans ever come together baffles me. Why is it that the funniest guys often end up with girls who don't laugh at their jokes? Why do Bridezillas exist? I mean, really why would anyone want to marry a girl who becomes a complete psychopath over what amounts to an expensive party? Why do ugly men with money get pretty girlfriends? Why do athletes fall for tiny blondes? How is it that the women among my friends and family came to love their spouses? While they may be generally wonderful people, in a lot of cases, I see personalities that would make me want to stab said spouse with the nearest available sharp object.

I'm sure there are very dry answers among scientific studies. Fact: men like bitchy women. Fact: blonde hair is more ecumenically pleasing. But those kinds of answers are not what I mean when I lament my misunderstanding about love.  What I'd like to know is why people fall in love with the ones they do when they do. What creates that perfect storm of ready to be loved, being lovable, and finding someone to return that love? And how on earth would I avoid stabbing a potential mate with a butter knife when they annoy me? And how would said mate avoid doing the same to me when I correct his grammar? Because I'm going to do that, even when I'm wrong, because I always think I'm the smartest person in the room.

See how I brought it all back there?

I'm not bitter about being single. Far from it. I've just reached the point where I'd like to try not being single any more. Beyond that, however, I have no particular feeling about what I should do next. It's not a great tragedy for me to be single, because I'm happy with who I am. But again, I'd like to give being coupled up a chance. Just for kicks.

This all leads me back to the question of confidence. Is it getting in the way? I know I could be okay just as I am. Is that interfering with or defeating that desire to be love? I don't think so, but what the hell do I know? That's why I brave the incoherence brought on by cough syrup to write entries like one.