Spent the day wrapped in a thick, nougatty coating of melancholy. I'm second-guessing myself, pinning all of my self-esteem on the chance comments of my work friends. I'm getting too emotionally involved too quickly. I have to remember that having no friends means that I'm essentially on the rebound right now, and I have to fight the urge to shack up with a replacement set. All day I've been wondering what I'm doing wrong, missing the point that my preoccupation with analysing every little exchange is likely what's blocking a real enjoyment of companionship.
I'm pretty happy to have two weeks off from this feeling, though. I haven't felt this bewitched, bothered & bewildered since I was "in love" in the seventh grade. There's nothing quite like the feeling when you realize that you're crushing like an eleven-year-old.
Last night we took Blake to see Mall Santa. It all went well: no line ups and 45 aimless minutes for "development" to tear around after him as he wove through disgruntled Christmas shoppers. It was tiring but a joy. Our best moment came on the drive home when Blake decided to like a Smiths song for the first time. His choice? In his own words, "some girls are bigger than ovens." (To which we soon added, "some girls' muffins are bigger than other girls' muffins.")
This closely rivals his performance on "Liar" (crooning while gently dancing the knit Rollins from side to side) and his recent habit of stomping around in a syncopated way to "Underground" by Tom Waits as the Cutest Thing Ever. I'm so lucky.
my apologies for the picture quality
The contents of this site, unless
otherwise noted, are copyright Rocketbride 1997-2009.
Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*