Puddles of tears collected in my glasses. Drops of running mascara now stain my carpet...
No, it is not my lame attempt at poetry - this legit just happened to me. I made the huge of mistake of watching a heart-wrenching movie tonight because I am evidently an masochist on top of being clinically depressed and (despite all my efforts to overcome the affliction) I have a set of fucking ovaries that screw me every month.
I really should have thought a little harder before stumbling upon Seeking a Friend for the End of the World on TV. By the end of it, I was rocking back and forth on my floor blubbering "That's just so fucking beautiful! I remember when some one used to love me!"
I've had a good run feeling great about being single, you know? Getting to rediscover my self as a solo unit, doing what I want to do rather than what we want to do, not feeling bad about shameless flirting. Besides the overwhelming frustration caused by the lack of sex that has left me feeling pretty "I-want-to-punch-someone-y", it's all very magical and liberating and blah blah blah sisters with no misters unite.
But what about the companionship, always having some one who cares who'll drop everything to be there for you when you need them, and vise versa? What about never being bored and having great sex with your best friend whenever you want it? Waking up next to some you love every morning and seeing them brightens your whole day because you know you get to see them as you fall asleep? I want that again.
I feel like a little kid with kick-ass toy made of moonbeams and fairy dust, the greatest toy she could have hoped for, and she is having so much fun. But then she sees some one else on the playground with an even more kick-ass toy. It's shiny and new, made of T-Rexs and unicorn farts. She stares agog at this glorious new plaything and thinks to herself "I want thaaaaaat..." as she wipes the drool from her chin.
So the kid in me looks down at her own toy and wonders if she should just keep the one she already has. It's not a bad toy, and after all moonbeams are friggin rad... BUT NOT AS FUCKING RAD AS A T-REX PLUS UNICORN FARTS! So does she stick to what she's had all along and have the same old fun? Or does she bribe the other kid with Tamagotchis and Orbitz and take what she wants? Sounds like a fair trade it ask me...
Well that's enough of that metaphore now, I think. On to another amusing conversation with Buddy which, despite the mild blow to my self-confidence, I found pretty damn funny:
"... so basically the name every ball used in sports is the 'sports name' plus 'ball.'" Buddy told me was we were on a smoke break. (Don't ask how we got to ball talk... I have no idea)
"Yeah, except for Quidditch. None of them are called Quidditch balls," I nerdily pointed out. "Do you beat the Bludger?"
"Oh, I'd say I'm a fair beater," he said roguishly.
"I'd have to say I'm great chaser, if you catch my drift."
"But how," Buddy asked me in mock innocence, "can you be a 'great' Chaser if you never catch the Snitch?"
"Ow... I don't think I like that one."
I chase boys and they constantly elude me, is what my dear friend is (needlessly) trying to remind me.
Even though he got the players jobs mixed up. Seekers catch the golden snitch and Chasers chase the quaffles... some "nerd" he turned out to be. Seriously. Get your shit together, man.
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