Liver Workout

So it's another evening where I've been given free cocktails, and I can't help but think about what I want and don't have. Namely, the boy. Is he the Pam Beasley to my Jim Halpert? The Michael Vaughn to my Sydney Bristow? Or is it something much worse, where I get to experience all the pain and none of the satisfaction? It seems possible, likely even, since my life doesn't even begin to resemble a Hollywood story, and I have a difficult time resolving how to move forward without the guidance of movies and tv. I've been conditioned for so many years that a man will eventually learn what an idiot he is and come running back and beg for forgiveness, but reality tells me that isn't even close to true. In reality, they never learn, they never beg forgiveness, and they never come back. And because of my immersion in Hollywood endings, I have no idea how to react to reality. Movies don't tell me how to move on. They don't tell me how to be strong. They tell me that if he left, there was someone better and more deserving. They don't tell me how to handle that.

I've already started making attempts to guard myself against the boy, against his charms. I've started making lists of things that I can do instead of be around him, instead of think about him. Not that any of them are very robust. Weaknesses are a bitch, for sure. I have been trying to concentrate on the house and the movie and school and work, but in reality, none of them seem nearly as important. Sad, isn't it? So I have to find other, more powerful ways to distance myself and feel nothing.

Looks like my liver will be getting a workout over the next several months.