spibble

i feel like something that you scrape off the bottom of your shoe. it's almost like a hangover, but the world is spinning. i'm not well. it's been a rough week. probably the only week in living memory where i would be relieved to have my prospective date for the evening cancel on me.

because, frankly, if i make it through this whole day, by the time i get home, there's no way in hell i'm leaving it again. it's dvd's, orange juice, chicken soup and a really, really early fucking night for the shiv. maybe i'll get myself a mud mask, give myself a facial, or something. make it feel indulgent.

anyway. back to the story of this boy who canceled on me tonight. strangely, i'm not the least bit distressed by this cancellation. ordinarily, this sort of development would send me spinning into leagues of "oh no, he's not interested, it'll never work out..." but for some reason, i don't feel that way just now. maybe it's because he calls when he says he will. or actually takes the time to chat with me for a few minutes when we do meet on the phone. or that he always asks me how work is. could it be, could it be possible, that maybe, just maybe, miss delicious has found a functional straight male? god, even if this never develops into a romantic thing, that's still a pretty fascinating find! i hear rumors that he's crashingly neurotic. but, strangely, i find it reassuring.

anyway. my head feels like it's full of wet cement, so i'm going to stop waxing rhapsodic and leave you with this thought: you cannot make a noun into a verb by sheer force of will alone.