Despite it being, of all days, April 1, this post is still truthful. The thoughts began coalescing on March 31, regardless. It is my cousin’s birthday (love!) and it is, unfortunately, a normal class day, but there is no foolery.

…Time to avoid my roommate.

I digress; in the culmination of the mental return to being single (which is a welcome stability, this culmination, after two weeks of flailing to regain balance) comes the unclouded, comfortable cynicism I held so staunchly four days before the last train wreck began. I have been finding that while I will implicitly accept people for who they are, I will mercilessly scorn those in whom I perceive certain emotional weaknesses. Perhaps because I scorn seeing them in myself; perhaps because I hold people I am interested in to a high standard. Mostly, though, this applies to the revelation that I have not been able to completely respect someone who’s ever expressed an unrealistic non-platonic interest in me if I do not return said interest.

For all my empathy, I have a distinct lack of sympathy here, often to malicious and ghastly effect. The empath in me wishes I had some; aforementioned scorn often causes me to giggle inwardly, plot ways to toy around, and wish to spin around in sadistic amusement. It did earlier this evening when I observed, with cynical eye, a whimsical and utterly idealized account of something romantic, and suppressed the mental image of a gleeful deity pointing and cackling, “foolish mortals!”

(Oh, cynicism, how I have missed you so. It’s not even bitter spinster cynicism; it’s simple “…you’re an idiot.” cynicism. Joy and skies! It is biased and not totally reasonable but I love it all the same. Even though it runs counter to the not-causing-pain I usually advocate. The cynic insists that they deserve it.)

Which is why I am completely baffled by the admission that a flame I thought long dead is still being held, albeit mutedly, for me by someone I known of for several years but have not, er, met.

…What?

Er, hello, Internet?

Moreover, this is a person I do respect to some extent, as a friend who I am not willing to trample on delightedly, and so we have established that this flame will not be acted upon for, if it still exists after this time period, a long while.

…But what?

…I mean, what?

There are those days I hate males, and am glad to have had the privilege to experience having a male friend whom I loved wholeheartedly and he in return– utterly platonically. (Nowadays his girlfriend and I mutually gripe about his chronic inability to keep in touch.)

Then there are those days when I throw my hands up in exasperation and go to bed at 3 a.m. This would be one of those.

—

It is 8:20 a.m.;  I have half a muffin and a class in 10 minutes; and I know my dream was tumultuous and dramatic but I can’t remember a whit of it save for the phrase “You’re seeking it in the wrong places” and I have no idea who or what it’s referring to.

…Well, I might, but I have a feeling that’s more my brain than the dream. Bah.