Piggy & Me

I’ve been languishing over a guy who’s about as useless as they come. I’ve run the gamut of DABDA, and am back on “anger” – although I think I bypassed “bargaining” the first time round and never quite reached “acceptance.” I’m invariably the queen of having crushes. At certain rare periods in my life, I’m interested in nothing but work and my own routine. I fly solo, enjoy independence (or at least the idea of it) and walk around with my eyes trained on the ground, totally engrossed in my own existence. At other periods, such as the current one, I run through lovesick dreams about one man after another, erecting them on pedestals and attributing sickly love songs to each. The current object of my affection has ruined Belle & Sebastian for me. I sing along to their songs and fantasize about him in the vein of Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles. The disappointing reality is the fact that my romantic tactics are on par with a 16-year-old: I obsess, languish, and day-dream instead of taking action and getting over myself.

But rage at being the woman scorn’d has its benefits. As I told Katy, it’s a good thing I haven’t heard from this guy since I’d probably take a punch at him and crack his glasses as they did with Piggy in Lord of the Flies. Katy responded by saying that I often cite the Piggy incident in times of stress and woe, a fact that I hadn’t picked up on. I guess it must be because of all our similarities: Piggy and I are indiscreet, lonely, and brutally victimized by society for our sub-par looks. Years from now when I complete my opus, I’ll entitle it “Remember Piggy,” in the hopes that the ominous thrill of those two words will resonate with a generation of homely men and women whose glasses (real and metaphorical) were broken.

What with cheerful messages from Lina, Steph, and Katy, I decided not to take my usual turn around the cemetery tonight and went instead to the gym. Tomorrow I head back to mater and pater for thanksgiving in CT. It promises to be quite the stay: a visit to Costco, purchasing a winter coat (my current number bares a tantalizing 4 inches of wrist), and driving my beloved car around town. Bonbons and bon-mots to ease the ailing heart; I’ll give thanks for those anytime. :)