Today has been the kind of day that makes me want to wash myself down the drain, along with the bath water. Either that, or disappear my consciousness into the movie "My Girl", or something as equally disturbing and corny.
It was a slow progressing day; quiet and lonely at work - feeling on the outer, I voluntarily left my lunch break 15 minutes early to go sit at my desk - that's how desperate I was.
I felt bad about the way I had responded to John's email yesterday. He had finally emailed me back after a little over a week, and I'm so damn impatient that I got angry. I told him that as a pen pal - he sucked. We always joke to one another - but it was my tone. I felt bad as soon as I had sent it. Today I wrote him a brief message to tell him something I'd neglected to mention yesterday. He wrote back, ending with a dig about how offensive my "you suck" was.
I have this warped, secret hope in my head that one day he'll wake up and realise he's liked me all along...or that after a while the idea of me will 'grow' on him. Or, that when he wrote back to knock me down those weeks ago, he wasn't being entirely honest for some noble reason. Which is why, when I spoke to my Mum earlier in the day, and she said there was a hand addressed letter that had arrived for me - my mind immediately went to John. No, I told myself - it can't be.. or could it? It wasn't. God, did I want it to be though.
I know it's a useless race I run - like wishing Santa was a real person, even after your parents tell you he's not. That silly, magic hope - you never want it to die, but sometimes you wish it would crawl into a dark corner on it's own and leave you to reality.
I can't shake the feeling he's hiding something from me, but then my feelings aren't all that reliable are they?