A few things of note:

  1. I’ll be 20 in 3 months. Now some people have differed to say 3 months is quite a long time away and I have haughtily refuted them for their uncalled for downer comments in welcoming my supposed ‘becoming’ time in life.
  2. I’ve been culled into this thing the same people have referenced to as a relationship, and it’ll be almost 3 months now- and I have been hyperventilating to recognize it as my single longest lasting connectivity with somebody apart from my cats. Which, with full disclosure, I’d like to reveal that the experimental effects of my ‘Stockholm-Syndrome’ ideal in keeping them on house arrests has worked wonderfully. They haven’t shat in my bed since summer now. Just the new roommate on his first night in, but you know. Cats.

The important part being, I feel most gratified right now of the feline whining outside my bedroom door. Indeed, 20 will make a better woman out of me.

This is how I get through my days.

It’s cure for times when you can’t seem to get out of the sweet suction of a leather couch and the sweet sweet sighing bodies of dreaming pets on each side. My roommate had been right : I am their’s. And if only, then this whole problem with le boyfriend goes away. What is it Duck? Is it that he cooks? – yeah, god forbid somebody who makes food for a living decides to mate with the unanimously voted ‘most likely to die of ramen overdose’ upon my moving out back in the day. Or that he takes painful heeds to pick all these nice restaurants and then pays for them? Ugh.. Hideous. I loathe myself.

Perhaps to easier resolve all of this, I should say I am like Chandler in Friends. Except that my uneasiness and gutting anxiety is only in vexation against the fact that in every other aspect of life I am Monica. Let’s not kid ourselves, Chandler wouldn’t give a shit about somebody leaving the kitchen towel crumpled and wet. Crumpled and wet! My biggest pet peeve.

It isn’t really that, which we all know when we take a good look. It’s the trusting, the vulnerability, the missing and caring. Bullshit Hollywood ideas that should be shot – no, no, you’re right, I need to calm down. Sigh. It’s scary to want somebody, to want something that you seemingly do not have direct say over (man, am I showing my Monica colors). By god, it is frightening to give yourself away in this Era – like who the fuck mass produced the idea of phone outrages and superstitions? Damn you manipulative genius of the 21st century. It has worked brilliantly.

With everything that has to do with my self probing doubt and auspicious avoidance of vanity – within all human limits – my ever calculative mind spits out the only solution it can find : to assume the worst of everything.

Ultimately you just feel like you’re not trying hard enough, or the worse case thinking he’s not trying hard enough, having realistically done nothing in the first place to have caused such a spike in hostility. Then the berating force of conscience sets in, ingraining into yourself to not do this the next time, don’t cry, don’t you dare fucking cry or who’s going to believe you when you say you’ll stop? It’s like an addiction of sorts. Strangely manipulative to apologize with full earnest but to find yourself in the same mindset the week after, and then week after that. Must be exhausting.

Knowingly, I have most likely exhausted the most common and idle torment that wrecks us all. Most of you out there are probably thinking in comparison you’d be old for any grabs of pairing numbers. I have such a long way to go. The only shitty thing about anxiety and involuntary outbursts of teary caliber is just this : time. The only comfort someone could provide you with, no matter your sister, your colleague or your mom. It takes time, luv. Takes one to know one. You just have to ride the gully of what the ticking clock has to offer you, like an invisible Milky Wave we all stand by. I guess for lack of better terms, birds don’t really see the wind stream they coast on, and it doesn’t seem to do them any harm in this apparent blindness.

There, I’ve just made myself feel a little bit better with that poetic bit of avian flight. Screw all the loving people in my life telling me to just enjoy it and trust. Pfft. I abhor it, this dangerous prescription of time, I can’t get him out of my head more and more everyday. Whether I’m crying or laughing. We’ve got to face it, time has got the best of me.