You know you may update your blog too infrequently when the url is no longer in your browser cache. That’s awkward. I’m glad I got that out in the open though.

The last month in a nutshell: finished an accounting course, got an A+, went to Honolulu, came back to winterland, went back to work, drama ensued, started another accounting course, more drama ensued, wished I was still in Hawaii, started to update my blog. The end. Effectively.

I have reoccurring dreams now. They’ve started just in the last two or three months. They aren’t scary-spooky, but are frightening enough. In the same way that unrequited love is scary. The story that starts out as a romantic comedy but turns into a psychological thriller. Analogies are misleading!

Despite constant physical and mental exhaustion, I should make a vow to blog less infrequently because it really is fun (to anonymously make people angry with my opinions).

Back to unrequited love though, because I find the topic interesting. It seems so 18th century, and yet what could be more enduring? Really? Why else would Jane Austen novels continue to be so popular? There are elements of unrequited love in the Twilight series when Bella thinks she’s not good enough for Edward’s love (oh yeah, in the last four weeks I’ve also read the entire Twilight series (ok, that only took one weekend)). Geeks! They are all about unrequited love. Case in point: Freaks and Geeks was based almost entirely on the theme of unrequited love (my argument is flawlessly weak). What am I trying to say? I don’t know. One of my favourite rss feeds to read while I’m eating my lunch at my desk, pondering my next step in tumultuous-drama-land (i.e. NOT-Hawaii) is Dear Old Love. There’s more  angsty-after-love going on there than unrequited love. I’ve been tempted to make a submission, but I’ve had no “old loves” in a long time… and a bit longer, even then.  Maybe I can inspire myself.

• I’m sorry the words that ended us were on my blog, but the months of yelling did nothing to push you away.
• I spent the two best summers of my life with you and still think about our debaucherous plots. I miss them.
• I didn’t have any feelings for you until you told me you wished we’d never met.
• It took me five years to meet someone exactly like you, but more durable.

I am going to regret this, but I’m not going to delete it.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 15th, 2009 at 9:57 pm and is filed under daily post.