Nothing like a lack of sleep to make you wander around your apartment weeping into every available tissue while you listen to bittersweet music designed to make you cry even harder, thinking “I –sniff- just-can’t-sniff do it anymore” or “When – sniff – will someone love – loud sniff – me?!” (falls dramatically onto couch here, tears staining the red upholstery ).



When, if like a regular person you’d had, perhaps 10 hours of sleep last night instead of an alcohol-riddled three, you might just think, albeit a bit sadly, “Oh well, another one bites the dust,” or “Well, from all evidence it seems that while Charming but Goofy Lawyer Boy (CGLB) was the most promising of all the boys so far, you’re just not, er, sexually compatible with him (i.e. he won’t f*cking make out with you), so, how about this – give it another chance to see if you can't make as good a physical connection with him as you can an intellectual one (i.e. will he lavish you with hugs and kisses?) and if not – well, pick up the pieces and move on.



Or, if that sleep deprivation had been cause by a marathon makeout session, instead of by lying puzzled next to CGLB on his stupid air mattress, in his apartment to which HE invited you after an evening of fun and drinking, the apartment that he, in fact, spent five hours cleaning that day just so he could invite you over – wondering why he kissed you rather lamely for about five minutes than rolled over and went to sleep – you’d be stumbling around in a happy daze rather than a weepy one.



Instead you spent a sleepless, wrenching night filled with disappointment and rejection alternating with escapist thoughts about the guy you met hiking just that day, thinking how funny and attractive he was, and how you might ask him to lunch or a movie, then feeling so wrong for lying next to sweet, but sexless (??) CGLB, thinking about some other guy you hardly even know (not that you know CGLB so well, as you’re beginning to discover).



And you wish, for the millionth time, that you didn’t have such a penchant for romanticizing people, because in the end, you only wind up like this – brokenhearted and lonely on one side of a bed that might as well be empty.



Later CGLB answers all your questions sweetly and seriously: no, you’re wrong about that, I do want to be close to you, I’m just “conditioned” to move slow; I've been too agressive in the past and pushed people away; I think we really click; you are attractive and smart and funny and nice, and then we walk around and he holds my hand and the day is beautiful and I’m sure we look happy, but despite his words, I feel it inside: something is, probably, wrong.



Damn it damn it damn it.