Broken Record

It's hard to plan out a conversation when you don't know what the other person will say.

I keep rolling it round in my head. How do I do this? If anyone wants to offer helpful advice, feel free.

Pretty much, the conversation, at present, goes like this "I really like you, but I think you know that already." And then....maybe something about wanting more. Probably more than he'll be wanting to give me. I really miss that stupid boyfriend shit that you do. Not him, because I don't even know if he does things like that. But more, the spooning and the maybe holding hands sometimes and forcing them to go to social events where you know they'll probably feel awkward until they realise that everyone I hang out with is equally as awkward, if not more, in their own special ways. I'm aware this blog has turned into nothing more than me mulling over my love life woes. I'm sorry. I apologise for that. I'm not going to stop though.

I've realised though, that I don't hold high hopes for an outcome involving unicorns, rainbows and kittens bursting from within as I explode with joy. I don't expect the outcome to involve him wanting to give me more. I could be wrong. I don't think I am. I may have already resigned myself to this as what will be happening. Cos that's what I do. I could be head over heels one day, and then just...over it the next. Well, almost over it. I'll probably rock some hurt for a while when I drink, but apart from that, as far as the unwitting observer is aware, I'm over it.

It's not like there is anything wrong with the relationship. Well, okay. There are lots of things wrong. But it's fun, and flirty, and when I actually get to spend time with him, I'm genuinely happy. There just isn't enough of the time where I get to hang out with him, just, as people, rather than the normal labels you can attach during office hours. Like right now, it's secret flirty. Secret secret, hush hush hush. Shhhhhhh. Don't tell anyone. It would be bad. So bad. Mucho trouble. My underwear is fucking riding my cooch so bad. And my butt. OMG IT'S TRYING TO EAT ME. Seriously. These underwear aren't going to be worn again. I lie. They're quite pretty. And red. My only pair of sexy red underwear. Men don't care if it's gettin up in your business. Really don't care. Probably like it more. Who knows? Men. They know. Because...they are men, and I am speculating on their opinions. I'm sure some men wouldn't like it more. Damn I'm good at the ramble. I'm feeling hyperactive. If I wasn't finishing at 9, and it wasn't Saturday, I would be going for a run when I get home. But it is Saturday, and I do finish at 9, and what kind of FREAK goes running through Aro at 10pm on a Saturday night, unless they've committed a crime, or are taking some sweet mind altering drugs.

I need to go sort out the underwear. RIGHT NOW. OMG. I'm seriously being eaten alive. I move to the side, and it attacks. SO MUCH BETTER!Although, every time I wriggle around, they start to creep. And, I'm really, really full of energy. Sitting still is really hard. WHAT DO THOSE LOOKS MEAN? OH GOD I WISH I KNEW. I want to rip his clothes off. Just tear them straight off his body. Goddam. I was well chuffed with the quicky on the secret floor. But that was on Monday. And it was, just a quicky. I need more than 8 minutes. Much more. Please?

I'm going to go and look at pictures of things. I still have 2.5 hours to go until my shift finishes. Hopefully it doesn't drag as much as yesterday, because that was just plain painful. I may also facebook stalk a little, because, well, who doesn't love a good fb stalk from time to time? It's healthy!