I understand this complaint better than I’d like to admit:
… sometimes I get a little tired of who I am: rule-bound, attentive to deadlines, fearful that without a Plan B things will go very wrong and I will be left stranded and no one will be able to help me. And, I don’t know, I’d like to be more spontaneous and “fun” but I don’t quite know how. (I don’t know how much of this is “brought to you by” the meme that men like the manic-pixie-dreamgirl type who is fun but a little flakey, but are mostly bored by the woman whose pumps are firmly planted on the ground and who gets her checkbook to balance every month)
I have long suspected — and it’s purely a suspicion, because I have no actual experience to support this premise — that no man can stand more than one MPDG, because the first one he meets will lay waste to his heart, and perhaps other parts as well.
Then again, I was married, for a while, to someone far more sensible than I. Which is perhaps one reason why it didn’t work out: all the maturity in the household was hers.
This hits me in the heart, though:
I’m not spontaneous and not good at being spontaneous.
I suppose I have it worse; I can be spontaneous, occasionally have been — but I’m not particularly good at being spontaneous. After a while, one learns to keep those jets cooled.