It's one of those Sunday nights where I want, more than anything, to just forget about myself and my silly heartbroken laments.



In other words, it's a night where I want to hang out with someone. Anyone. And no one is available. It's as if all my friends have left in a spaceship together, or decided to turn off their phones, because who really wants to hear any more of BB's stories about crushes gone wrong?



Who wants to see her big brown eyes brim over with tears when you pass her the parmesan? Who wants to hear about her "desperate," "pathetic" search for someone to love (And thank you, all ye male readers of the last two months who have felt honorbound to tell me what a loser I am! What good deeds you are doing for the world!)



Well. On a completely different note.



In the midst of writing this (as we speak) in my fave coffee shop, who should waltz in here but El Capitan. Who should be sitting across from me as we speak, eating a biscotti, but the person who did not call me this weekend, despite knowing very well that I wanted him too?



Now he just breezily sits down across from me, pretending that I - just like him - am someone who doesn't take my attachments to other people seriously.



Hmm.



Perhaps the showdown is going to come sooner than I thought.



I was going to have that little talk with him that was bound to come sooner or later, but I didn't think it was going to be tonight.



But now? That he's in front of me?



Well, it's a little hard for me to sit here and write and pretend like everything is OK.



SIGH.



Wish me luck.