So, I have this thing with this guy. And we’re friends. Like really good friends. Like so much of good friends that we practically have our own new label. And unlike other labelly things I have had in the past, this one managed to have more than a day-long half-life.
On the 7th, aka the day after tomorrow, it’ll be 3 weeks. And I’m excited-slash-terrifed if only for the mere fact that I haven’t had anything last this long without me, by the third week, wondering how I can get out without gnawing off a limb.
A gnawed off limb would certainly impact my life more than this thing does, I would think. I have first and last thoughts of the day. Talk every day. My text message limit is getting an enormous boost. Hell, I’m glad I switched over to unlimited texts not too long ago. (To the best of my knowledge, the last billing period had more than 3,000 texts used – and I’m the only one that uses texts. Me and my Treo.) I make him foot the call minutes, though. It’s safer that way. I actually have to be concerned about someone else other than myself.
Don’t let the lapse in selfishness fool you. I probably aggravate him on a daily basis with all my little quirks that have to be addressed and where I absolutely NEED to have my brows furrowed into a shape that would make the Grand Canyon jealous. Just like I NEED to pout and be completely unreasonable in a manner that defies my 24 years of age. It’s like a silent tantrum. Keep in mind, according to everyone, I never threw a tantrum – sources say my first one was past puberty. And it usually lasts all of 30 min, from buildup to explosion to cool down.
Forgive me for sounding cliché, but I feel somewhat complete. In that way, you know if you’re going to be there, this is how I am, and if you can’t handle being called a dumbass at least once a day, please feel free to open that door while I’m speeding down the highway and just fall out. I won’t mind, really.
He won’t let me fart yet though. My inner child is throwing a tantrum. Silently.