And So It Goes

I have no idea what time it is, only that it is late enough to be keeping my father, who is sleeping on the couch, awake and I am sure he isn't too happy about that. I have this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach which probably has to do with the fact that yet another person is getting in the car tomorrow and driving home to Indiana without ever asking for my phone number. I get this feeling every time another possiblitly mentions leaving town, and I am struck by this sort of desperation to spend as much time as possible making it very clear to that person how great I am. Does that make sense? Probably not, but I will continue anyway. I have spent the day trying very hard to move on from the impossibility of my Mr. Perfect (see 10.15.2001, 10.17.2001) and focus onto to somthing, or someone, a bit more within my reach. Under the pretense of free Busch Gardens tickets and providing a fun little outing for a rather bland vacation in Brandon, I had the day to test the waters of compatibility. Well, apparently "reach" is subjective and free tickets don't offer the appeal that I had previously thought. I'm not broken hearted, I have no reason to be, but I am disappointed at adding yet another tally mark to the count of those who find me perfectly resistable. Not that he and I would have made a good match, and long distance things never work, but still.... There is always church tomorrow, but I think I might have spent too much of my time already on this little endeavor and I refuse to hold my breath on this one for most certian death from lack of oxygen. Despite all, I did have a really good day. I mean who wouldn't given free passes to a theme park that in no way resembles the house I have spent the few days prior trapped in. I even had a breakthrough and put away long standing fears to discover the joys of rollercoasters that go upside down. Underneath that knot of disappointment sits a type of self-pride that refuses to be shown because of its extreme child-like nature.(Lets just say the last time I felt this way I had just learned to ride a two wheeler, sans the training wheels.) Maybe my mother is right and my curl-haired hero can be found in a random pub somewhere in the UK. Until I find him, I think I might be better off if I quit mistaking him for just about every other guy that I run into here and there-that routine is growing very tiresome-and, meanwhile, I should probably just stick to Jane Austen and find my present happy endings there.
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