I would love a cup of tea please?

UPDATE: Shanks for everyone's encouragment. Sadly, I am over it. Not him, but just it. I have the other 3 men in my life to worry about ;)

“There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea.” - Bernard-Paul Heroux

So as I sit here waiting, for the water to boil. I pen my frustrations, or rather, my unnecessary frustrations, as pointed out by a girlfriend.

I once again set foot into no-man’s land, in other words, I started dating again. It amazes me how I can get so peer pressured into doing so. It is unconscious. No, wait. It is not. Not when a close confidante couldn’t stop chanting, “Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!” ¬— and my hearts starts to flutter ever so slightly in prospects of Mr. Seems-So-Rightttt.

I get comfy just all by myself. Being away from home (oops, mom’s reading this?) lets me do whatever I want. Being SINGLE really lets me do whatever I want.

This time, I thought I had given myself ample time to recover, which I totally disagree now. Recover from the previous relationship, which confused, disappointed and saddened me. Not that this current affair had done that yet, it has only brought on some new disturbances to my so-called life.

First of all, I think about what he is doing. To be exact, what he is doing when he is not with me, not talking to me or not IM-ing me. Honestly this doesn’t take up much of my time but it still bothered me that it bothered me.

Secondly, I check my phone way too often than usual. And my IM. Just in case I miss his messages while I was taking care of business in the bathroom like 3 feet away from the main room. Ha! It’s like, you know, how a female column writer described — “his text messages were like little droplets of sunshine throughout the day.” And thank god he hasn’t start emailing me.

So you think I am Crazy-Town now?

Thirdly, I get so self-conscious. Too self-conscious. Normally I can go through my days like La La La, like different colors of the rainbow, like winged-ponies grazing on lollipops. I wake up to my weekends with not a care in the world. But now, god forbid! It seems like every waking moment is being judged, monitored and scrutinized by a self-prescribed Simon Cowell type of critic. Following me, telling me that “Oh girl~ if you wear that out today, you’ll look like a fool and what if somebody sees you? He wouldn’t like that.” Or like “Did you just say that out loud? I can’t believe you did. It’s ridiculous and I bet you think you’re funny huh? Sorry. You’re out. Thanks for trying too hard.”

And I don’t even know if I like him like him.

So, why do I get all worked up about this so-far-two-dates guy? I think I just like to mind-fuck me, myself and I, in the ( )*( ).


And I shall keep you guys posted.