Somebody Kill Me Please

Ok, took the first practice exam yesterday for the bar and I not only failed, but failed miserably.

MISERABLY.

It was a great kick in the ass to make me realize I seriously need to get my head in the game. But on the other hand, I feel like I want to throw up and cry, though I suspect that doing both at once would prove to be very unsavory.

Going down the checklist of emotions I've been told I'm supposed to have at this point, I find that all finally apply:
Overwhelmed? Check.
Nauseous? Check.
Loss of appetite? Check. (this might be the most disturbing to me at present because ordinarily I'm always hungry).
Tearful? Check.
Want to hit something with a baseball bat? Check.
Want to scream as loud as possible? Check.
Contemplating a career as a stripper, even if means getting implants and lipo rather than going through with this another second? Check, check, check.

Adam Sandler said it best through song in "The Wedding Singer": Somebody kill me please.

NOTE: this is not a serious solicitation for murder-for-hire.

Yes, I know I've lost it. It'll get worse in the ensuing madness.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Just Give Up Already

Some people just don't know when to quit.

I received a text message from the guy who dumped me in Argentina (see previous posts) last weekend. I did not respond.

This morning I was driving on the causeway and heard a honking horn. Who else could it be but my favorite asshole driving in the next lane, waving and smiling? Fortunately my phone was on silent and in my purse so I was not tempted to pick up when he called me moments later.

This is the first time I've seen him since March, when he dropped me off at my apartment after that horrible trip. I've been expecting to encounter him and I'm glad that it's done. Now I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore. With any luck, after today's unreturned phone call he'll get the hint and just give up. I'm sure he wants validation that he isn't really such an asshole. Look at me! I can be friends with a girl I used to date!

Sorry dickhead -- that kind of emotional maturity is worthy of someone much younger than your 30 years.

You are SO done.

Comfort & Passion

Apologies to my three faithful readers for the long lag between posts. It's largely the fault of the bar exam. But since my television broke last week and I lack the funds to acquire a new one, the internet (and more specifically, this blog) may become my primary outlet for relaxation.

Things with are going well with the boy ... really quite happy with it yet at the back of my mind waiting for it all to go to shit ... I know it's self-defeating, but it's my way. Just as I can't tell a story in a linear fashion without all manner of digressions and footnotes, I cannot be involved in a relationship without fear of being dumped.

But I am comfortable with him, and I think him with me ... Sunday morning we were talking about the relationship of my friends, who appear to like each other almost because they think they should. They are both "good on paper" as far the other is concerned. The boy verbalized a perfect description of them: they lack passion. They embody pure relationship comfort and routine.

I later mused on the tumultuous relationship of another pair of friends, who are the personification of passion. They yell, scream, argue, laugh and fuck. But I'm not sure they have ever experienced a moment of unadulterated comfort in their time together. Part of it is the way they are as individuals - they are very passionate people. But something about them in synergy makes the passion boil over and get a little too intense a lot of the time.

I realize this sounds like a modern-day Goldilocks and the Three Bears: one relationship is too hot, the other too cold. Just like Goldilocks, what I'm looking for is just right: comfort, in the sense of support, companionship, and understanding; passion, in the sense of a deep, uncontrollable attraction and a strong desire to be together. I think if you have both of those, you may have the formula for love.

I never quite thought of things in these terms before this weekend. But I think it's a good sign that the boy can express what I mean but can't find the words to say.

Maybe he's just right.