*beats head against keyboard*
How strange that, whether love comes or love goes, all thought of food disappears. Lucky that, sometimes, love stays else we would all starve to death.
That quote is from The Good Mayor by Andrew Nicoll, the book I am currently reading, and it really stuck with me. This novel is quickly becoming my favourite for the year; it's so eloquent and funny. And, in small ways, it parallels with my feeble attempts with Samuel, though obviously the novel is much more poetic.
I've been frustrated with myself all afternoon. I'm home alone again and the house is empty and I'm tired of fighting with myself. I hoped I would see him this afternoon when I went Christmas shopping and I'm disappointed I didn't. I've spent the afternoon baking in an attempt to distract myself. The fridge is filled with rocky road and chocolate biscuits. But as I was stirring the melting chocolate, I was plagued by visions of chocolate fights and playful wrestling.
It's so silly that on my days off from work, I meticulously plan my outfit, my hair, my makeup, my jewellery, my shoes just on the off chance I may run into him. I'm not a perfume person so instead I wash with citrus scented soap and use a summer-fresh body spray, hoping one day he will be close enough to smell the delicate tang. I'm just as bad at work. That golden halo? That candycane lipgloss that makes my lips tingle? That necklace that sits at the base of my neck and draws attention to my collarbone? They've all been chosen especially for you to notice.
Goddammit, this whole thing is driving my head in. I fear my brain will explode one of these days. I am caught in this epic struggle. There is the insanely romantic side of me that is aching for his touch, his beard, his hands and eyes and skin and even that goddamned stupid hat. And then there is the cautious, neurotic side that says that this clearly cannot work out and I should just forget and move on.
That quote is from The Good Mayor by Andrew Nicoll, the book I am currently reading, and it really stuck with me. This novel is quickly becoming my favourite for the year; it's so eloquent and funny. And, in small ways, it parallels with my feeble attempts with Samuel, though obviously the novel is much more poetic.
I've been frustrated with myself all afternoon. I'm home alone again and the house is empty and I'm tired of fighting with myself. I hoped I would see him this afternoon when I went Christmas shopping and I'm disappointed I didn't. I've spent the afternoon baking in an attempt to distract myself. The fridge is filled with rocky road and chocolate biscuits. But as I was stirring the melting chocolate, I was plagued by visions of chocolate fights and playful wrestling.
It's so silly that on my days off from work, I meticulously plan my outfit, my hair, my makeup, my jewellery, my shoes just on the off chance I may run into him. I'm not a perfume person so instead I wash with citrus scented soap and use a summer-fresh body spray, hoping one day he will be close enough to smell the delicate tang. I'm just as bad at work. That golden halo? That candycane lipgloss that makes my lips tingle? That necklace that sits at the base of my neck and draws attention to my collarbone? They've all been chosen especially for you to notice.
Goddammit, this whole thing is driving my head in. I fear my brain will explode one of these days. I am caught in this epic struggle. There is the insanely romantic side of me that is aching for his touch, his beard, his hands and eyes and skin and even that goddamned stupid hat. And then there is the cautious, neurotic side that says that this clearly cannot work out and I should just forget and move on.