squee happens...shit
January 04, 2005, 1:08 pm
If there's any reason to doubt that I'm crazy in the head, let me throw this meaty morsel at you: I am trying to sabotage my own happiness.
That's right, I, apparently, don't want to be happy. Ever.
Sunday night: I am still in a blissful state after spending umpteen hours rollicking in bed, eating omelettes, and watching Cujo (unfortunately...did you know that was Danny Pintauro of Who's the Boss? fame?), and I am relaxing in Thumper's arms when the melancholy and the self-preservation kicks in. Oh yes, I picked a fight. I picked a fight because I am trying to sabotage my own happiness. I picked a fight because I am trying to lose. I picked a fight because I am petrified that this is going to work out and I have too many bartenders to sleep with before this becomes a reality.
Luckily for me, Thumper is not only observant, but has a black-belt in diva-handling. He won't let me get away with it; he wouldn't let me leave in a huff, and he did it in exactly the way I need (but don't want). He didn't suck up, he didn't coddle me, but he wasn't mean. He wanted me to talk about it; for real, not whining or simping out. What a fucking novel idea; finally, a guy that gets it...and me.
Which is why I picked the fight in the first place. My reputation as a hardcore party girl is devastatingly at risk here, my dear darlings. I am in trouble because a) he'll hurt me (again) and b) I am in trouble.
This, to put it bluntly, sucks.
"Agent Biensoul, you do realize that this is a GOOD THING, right?"
"Agent Megan, then why the hell am I so fucking pissed off about it?"
"What are you pissed about?"
"Him."
"Why?"
"Because I---llll---shit, I love him."
"Be happy."
"Okay."
And so I'll try.