I'm getting all my boy angst out in this one post before I go on spring break. I don't want to think about whether writing my phone number and a note that said "Hey, let me know if you get that guitar club going" on an old library card catalog slip and then slipping it under Guitar and Biology guy's windshield wipers was creepy after watching him jam out with one of the guys from the radio show after me.
I don't want to think about why Prettyboy or Cape were so interested in talking with me and presumably continuing the conversations later and have said nothing after I responded cheerfully affirmative.
I don't want to dissect Mike's and my fan-fiction as a map into how we truly feel about each other. That's a little nerdy for even us.
I don't want to miss BF.
I don't want to feel like my brain is scrambling for a piece I think I'm missing when I skip around to different boys like they're different job options. It's been really teeth-grindingly jarring to realize that my subconscious thinks I need a man to be happy. And that I've been agreeing with it without really noticing.
Staring at an empty email inbox for hours on end will be easy enough to avoid. I'm going to impose a 10p.m. to whenever-I-get-up a.m. cell phone shut-off, too.
So. Take it away, Mr. Morrissey.
Reader, that's the last time I'll do that to you. I promise.
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