Friday, March 12, 2010

on the relative perils of infatuation

In a fit of independence (or was it self-indulgence?), I have taken my rainy Friday blues home to my empty, cold apartment (bumbling slumlord has cut the gas again) and taken refuge on my big blue couch. I've ordered dinner, I'm drinking Chianti right out of the bottle and I'm about to pop in the masterpiece that is the BBC Pride & Prejudice. May it soothe me in my self-induced (or was it the weather?) depression.

The G.I.Q. still looms on the periphery, though his attentions have been sporadic at best this week. I crave him irrationally and often, and while I can't quite shake the doomsday feeling that he will one day—perhaps sooner than I would like—wreck me, I cannot bring myself to stop.


Kathleen said...

OMG move in with me

Scarlet-O said...

Ah, yeah, I so hear you, I so so so hear you, just add an exploded tooth and some Vicodin and take away any actual real life attention from GIQ ever and we're on exactly the same page.