the turn

So I'm using his name and I'm going to admit that he's not attractive and that he's not worth my time and he's not good enough for me.

Except he is.

I had a rough night last night. I fell asleep listing everything I remember about Michael. The stupid thing, of course, is that it's a relationship that doesn't exist anymore and that never really existed enough to merit how I feel. Note the present tense. Note that when I see his picture I feel my pulse. Note that my only solution is to never see him, in any form, again. Note that this is not working.

I've been in a funk all day. Until I started diatribing at (not to) ginsberg. Trust him to get me to this point:

I don't care what men think. I really don't. Because I honestly believe that someday I'll find the person who will understand that I am brilliant and worth eternity. I haven't given up. I just get impatient. I see my sister married and pregnant, and my brother's beautiful girlfriend waiting for him and I wonder why I have to wait. Or why I can't at least have some fun while I'm waiting. I've pretty much decided it's going to be a relationship worth waiting for.

Can I get an amen?

Please?

P.S. If I get around to it, I'll direct you to a post about why I admire Elinor Dashwood more than Elizabeth Bennet.