Hey guys... Just an fyi, my blog makes a lot more sense if you start reading it from the beginning.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

I'm in love with my best friend...

...and it's a totally hopeless, unrequited case.

This blog exists because I need a place where I can talk about it - vent, cry and be totally unrealistic. (My friends are sick of hearing about it - they wanted me to move on approximately 700 years ago, but I just couldn't do it. My friend Melissa bought me that book, "He's just not that into you," and I was like, Mel, he's not into me at all, I'm not delusional.)

I know I probably shouldn't wallow, but I can't help it. Sometimes I just have to talk about all of the stupid little things that happen that make me think there might be hope, even though logically I know there's no hope. I know it. I know it.

Logically, I know if he had any romantic interest in me at all, I'd already know. He's not subtle or shy. He dates a lot. A lot. But on the other days of the week, when he isn't going out with a random supermodel type? He's with me. (He might date the models, but he can't live without me. That's something, but probably not enough.)

Now and then I'll try to create a little distance, try to regain my footing a little, but he always notices, and he doesn't understand. He says he misses me. He asks me what's wrong and comes over and wants to have long quiet talks about what's going on in my head. Because he has no idea.

It's not like I'm a total ogre. I'm 23. I'm blonde and I have green eyes. I'm a size twelve, which really isn't that fat, but apparently it's fat enough to ensure that nobody will ever think of me as anything other than a sidekick.

If I were fit, I think I'd be sort of cute. This one time I lost a bunch of weight and got down to a size six and half the guys at church fell in love with me, I'm not even kidding. It was the most exciting week of my life. Then I ate a sandwich and was right back into a twelve.

(OK, so maybe that happened over a period of months, but it felt like one day they were all interested, and the next day, zap, it was all gone.)

His name's Seth and he's 26. He's smart, and sweet, and steady, and he looks at me with those huge hazel eyes and I think, I will never get over you, never.

Someday he's going to get married and my heart will be totally broken, but on the other hand it will probably be the best thing that could happen, because I think that's the only way I'll ever get over it.

That's my story. Comments are always going to be closed, because I know everyone will want to say - come on, snap out of it - but I already know I should. I know that. But here on the blog I'm going to write the truth of it, the totality of all of my totally pathetic, hopeless feelings. If you promise not to judge me too harshly for failing to have a backbone, feel free to follow along.