I'm sending my hopes away.



They need a little vacation. It'll be only the best for my hardworking little hopes, who've been up and down so many times in the last year they can't see straight. Preferably a private hospital somewhere warm, where the garden smells of jasmine at night and the Xanax flows freely.



Just one more week, little hopes; just get yourself over this one like you've gotten yourself over all the rest, and then it will be time for your hard-earned break.



I'll take myself off to New Orleans for my birthday where anyone I might meet is just going to be a one-night stand anyway; I'll forget about the cold-blooded Seattle boys; and we'll both come back different. Tanned and refreshed and ready to do battle again, but in a less frenzied sort of way.



It's been a year now, little hopes, and we just have to accept that someone is not coming along to replace Loser right away. We have to accept that every cute boy we meet is not The One; that it's OK to be alone; that we won't be alone forever, and even if we are, that's OK too.



It's time to relax, darlings, so we don't drive ourselves into the asylum for good.