I've Got a Case of the Mondays

I miss you on Mondays because we eat and drink and breathe shared air for fifty straight hours until the bus rumbles me away from you and I'm all alone.

I miss you on Mondays because my body has to relearn the weight of its limbs without yours tangled in mine.

I miss you on Mondays because weekday workdays overflow with comedy GOLD and my texting thumbs can’t tap out the stories to you fast enough.

I miss you on Mondays because I’m stuck with just the food in front of me, when I’d rather fork tomatoes off your plate and steal the bubbles from your bubble tea.

I miss you on Mondays because I live weekend to weekend and the workweek just interrupts time that could be spent in your steady presence.

I miss you on Mondays because I can’t get enough of you. Because you make politics interesting. Because you laugh at my jokes. Because you don’t mock the lululemon poster in my bathroom. Because you bring me ice cream when I’m sick and wine when I’m happy and kiss me in public and tell me I’m beautiful.

Do you miss me on Mondays?

You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Blog is About You (Ha!)

When it rains, it pours.

It’s odd how you can feel like such a cookie cutter cliché of a lonely, single girl one day and then suddenly it’s like you’re fighting guys off left and right, scheduling back-to-back date nights, and surreptitiously replying to texts from potential love interests under the table mid-way through Sunday night dinner with your parents.

All of a sudden, you’re giving off some sexed-up, “you can’t have me” vibe and people sense you’re a hot commodity. While just a day earlier you would’ve pictured yourself grocery shopping and folding laundry on Sunday afternoon, instead you find yourself happily ignoring Nicholas Cage movies while a guy plants kisses on the nape of your neck.

…And then the Texts from Boyfriends Past start pouring in.

Almost as if they have some kind of radar that notifies them when they are slowly being forgotten about; the sexts, the awkward comments, the four consecutive ichat bubbles about unimportant nothingness. These were the texts I desperately needed three days ago when I wanted some reminder that I was missed – that I mattered. But my phone was obnoxiously silent. Until now, of course. Until I couldn’t care less.

I’ve never thought of myself as the type who needed “closure”.  I always liked the idea of being friends with an ex. But now, I’m doubtful. Why hold on to someone who didn’t treat you the way you deserved? Even if the split itself was amicable enough it doesn’t mean you need the toxic emotional angst that can accompany prolonged contact with an old flame.

Just let me be happy.

Now She's Gone in the Blink of an Eye

I'm feeling very restless.

Stability is great. I normally love stability, but right now I'm twitchy, I'm anxious, I'm jonesing for a trip, a journey, a way out. I know I want a traditional picket-fence life eventually, but not now. Not yet. I want to throw all my stuff in storage and hit the road. I'm not much of a car person but a bike would do nicely.

I want to see Amurrica. Really see it. I want to know more than my bubble. I want to see factories and ghettos and farmland. I want to see landmarks and rivers and woods. I want to see endless stormy skies and braided cornfields and untouched trails and I want to hike them and touch trees and explore towns and not sit at my desk like a girl in decay.

But I can't do this alone. I don't want to get raped or stabbed or killed or lost. I don't need to risk my life to appreciate it. I already do. I mean, odds are, the worst won't happen but ya never know... So then that brings me back to why I want to run in the first place. Am I trying to escape being alone or am I looking to justify my alone-ness. If you're on your own on purpose then at least you're not lonely. Accidental solitude is the worst.