March 30th, 18:05 | I should really re-read Dune.
So apparently Mother Nature's got an intern in house, because everyone knows that once Spring hits, I'm no longer supposed to ever have to wear gloves (indoors!) in order to be able to type. Damned poor circulation. On the bright side, I am wearing Laura's snazzy velvet gloves -- classy!
So things are kind of ugly with the New VP. I called The Boy all weepy and mopey because I felt (and still feel) really bad about it. His advice was to sleep on it, which, thankfully I did. I'd just like to interrupt myself here and say that anyone who says that I don't know how to pick guys can watch me do the victory dance; after all, I'm dating my own personal Voice Of Reason, aren't I? How much more sensible can I get than that, huh? Huh??
Anyway. So I wrote her this morning, essentially saying that it sucked that she'd heard that (although I still wonder who from) and that I don't feel that way at all. Which is true. I mean, anyone who knows me (or, ahem, reads yon diary) is probably aware of my tendency to rant, and when I do, my opinion tends to become spontaneously way more extreme than it ever really is. I am, as they say, full of shit. (Or "all talk". I'm not sure which I like better.) My point is that, really, if I'm expressing that strong an opinion, it's highly likely I don't mean a word of it.
There are, of course, exceptions to this. But they are fairly few in number. They are...
So. Now I just have to sit back, hope she's going to stick to the high path and give me a chance to explain wtf happened. Assuming, of course, that I can figure it out myself.
Right now, I'm mostly trying very hard not to get myself down over this. But, if all else fails, I'll drag her out for coffee sometime early next year, and we'll hash it all out. There isn't anything I can't fix.
*Wanders off to find the Litany of Fear to use as a mantra.*
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