there's something to be said for familiar ground, i suppose.
this year has been an education for me with respect to the male species: there was the boy who loved me, whom i cared for but couldn't commit happily-ever-after to. then there was the boy who just wanted to get naked with me, whom i thought i had a crush on but it turned out i just thought he was cute. then there was the boy-from-the-past who came back into my life and reignited a spark of holy-shit-i-think-i'm-very-nearly-in-love, who, it turns out, ain't at all interested in me in that way.
at least i'm back to the place from which i know myself best. single, with no prospects, a lingering heartache from recent bruising and a self-preserving desire never to want to be with another boy ever again.
yes, i know it's melodramatic, but hey, i'm a thirty-one year old woman who's never really had a successful, healthy, long-term relationship with a stable boy. at some point, you've just got to give up trying or you risk the madness.
despite all that, i'm really not as hopeless as that all sounds, i'm just a wee bit spontaneously weepy today, and i could blame that on the hormones if i really wanted to. besides, who could feel bad when they look as good as i do today?
"don't just date someone because you're too lazy to commit suicide"
i read that the other day and thought it was so fitting.