I downloaded this song from Napster and put it on on my “Anger Management” Winamp playlist circa 2000. This list also consisted of a lot of Eminem. A lot. I wasn’t a particularly angry girl. I was just a white girl at a liberal arts college who thought Eminem was the hottest thing on earth. But I digress.
Today was one of those days when I really wanted to just come home, change into sweatpants, lay on the couch, and have someone else bring me a bottle of wine and dinner. It was nothing serious that put me in a bad mood; it was just a bunch of little things that added up, and by the time some idiot was watching anime on his laptop without headphones on the train while I was trying to read, I was just ready to crawl in bed and try to start over tomorrow.
Alas, I had nothing and no one to come home to except enough wine for only one glass, a freezer full of Lean Cuisines, and The Unusuals queued up on Hulu Plus. (Readers, be happy I didn’t know about this show two months ago. I would have annoyed the bejesus out of you campaigning for a mysterious ex-baseball player turned New York cop who looks good in a leather jacket wielding a gun played by my current celebrity obsession in the TV Boyfriend Bracket.)
I like to believe I don’t need anyone else. I’ve survived this long on my own, and I’m fully capable of doing almost anything without help. (Almost anything. I still can’t kill spiders.) But there are some nights where, dammit, I just want someone else to take care of me, and this was one of those nights. I’d just like a little companionship. Maybe some home-cooked food that I don’t have to actually make. Just to take a night off from worrying and stressing and have someone else do the dirty work.
It’s frustrating that I’m feeling this way on a day when I received a few texts from the Pittsburgh guy asking when we were hanging out again. I replied that my weekend was booked, but could potentially meet up on Sunday or Tuesday, and his reply was:
Sunday works for me. Or Tuesday. ::gasp:: maybe both.
We’ll talk about the wisdom of guys using “gasp” or winky faces in texts at a later time, but here’s the point: there’s a guy in this city who wants to see me not only once, but twice, next week. He’s interested, and we had a good time the first time, and everything should be good, right? All I can think is, eh. I suppose. All I can think about is the guys who aren’t calling me, because isn’t that what women always do? Don’t we always want the ones who don’t want us? And while I can’t find a single reason not to go out with him, I can’t find a single reason that’s making me really want to either.
I’ll still go out with him Sunday. And heck, maybe Tuesday. But what the heck is wrong with me when, on a night where I just want companionship, I can only dwell on the negatives of a potential companion instead of the positives?