On the eve before I leave for my New York trip, I have to finish 4 essays for anthropology and find it an utter bore. I have to write an essay on the intrusion of political figures lives and I am benevolent. I have to write an essay on a BBC program that featured to journalists who report on the war in the middle east and I am inspired. I have to study for french class and have trouble with retaining what I learned from the last class. And I have to continue plugging away at the job market without losing hope.
On top of it all, I am lonely. I haven't had a relationship in a long time and it is wearing on me like a wet sweater. I am all mangled up inside.
I can't concentrate on all the above mentioned because I am too busy thinking of how my life is passing me by and all the hopes and dreams I had about love and marriage are slowly diminishing. One day I am going to look in the mirror and be this sad and single creature who eats ice cream in bed wrapped up in a light blue snuggy with the cats kneeding my hair into a rastafarian, dreadlock motif.
All of my cognitive abilities are full throttle in the direction of dealing with rejection that I can't bare to spend one synapsis on the rest of my life at the moment.
I am not a freak.
I am not the elephant man.
I am more than a side attraction.
I am in the circus cage of unrequited love
with my face pressed against the iron bars
while the fat lady sings to the object of my affection.
The Blonde needs the key!