Thanks, Gentle Readers, for recommending this book, “He's Just Not That Into You : The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys.”



It’s heartwarming that you want me to understand HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO ME, and rather than fight that verdict, I will just lay down my arms and say, OK, fine. He’s just not that into me.



Though I do think there’s such a thing as timing, and the timing, in this case, was just not right – but when it comes down to it, it just doesn’t matter. It’s over. Oh, he did call me this week to say how much he’d missed me, but he’s not going to come crawling back. Because we weren’t right for each other anyway.



Sure, we ignited the bedroom each and every time. And I don’t regret that I gave up my virtue this time around, because I trusted him, and he never lost that trust, and boy was he f*cking hot – nosehairs and all.



But, for one, he didn’t want kids, and for two, the intellectual connection was just not there. We didn’t spark that way, and to my everlasting detriment, I need that. I’ve tried to live without it before, to go on a strong friendship or a strong physical attraction, but either one of these alone was not enough to sustain me. Nor is an intellectual attraction by itself enough to get the juices flowing.



I think, alas, that I need all three, and me and Library Boy, we had only one.



Now, well, my life’s in limbo. And rather then let myself feel sad, I’ve been rushing around til all hours of the night, socializing with random men until yesterday, when I stopped dead in my tracks and got sick. (And can’t you tell from the lackluster tone of my writing today?)



There is a love interest lurking behind the scenes, but I can’t even write about him, for fear that if I do, he will instantly disappear. So that’s what I will do now too, since I can’t seem to come up with a single clever thing to say.