I am slacking. Slacker slack slacking.
Let me summar. 
March was cold. Wet with snow and windy. I hate the winter and I hate that it sticks around. I don't understand how Maryland gets these really cold and really hot temperatures. It's probably all very sciencey and any explanation would go way over my head, but I think that Maryland is located more south than north, so our weather should reflect the temperatures more of Florida than Maine. Right? Right. So go home, winter. You're drunk.
Last week, I put an end to the boy that I was so hopelessly stringing along. Pity is not a good base to any friendship and when the person you pity does not have a lot of experience with relationships - or is just socially awkward - things are just bound to end badly. He didn't take it well and he kept asking for a "vote." It was really frustrating. Idealists do not make for good partners. I should do well to remember that.
Also, the boy that I was sleeping with has pretty much stopped talking to me. Thank goodness. Just in time, in fact. Last night, I found out through a reliable source that he has a reputation for having sex with girls who come into the gym.
Gross.
But I could sense it. I can sense those boys from miles away. I told my friend that he probably sleeps around and I was right. It must be my high school experience that has taught me so well. Or maybe I'm just jaded. However, I am glad that we were both just using each other for sex and that no one got his or her feelings hurt. Hurt feelings are too messy. Clean breaks. Clean. Breaks. He still says hello to me in the gym, though. I would prefer no contact at all, as is my usual rule for those that I've hooked up with. Get in, get off, get out, and then never speak of this again.
I'm worse than any boy.
I still love the other boy, though. The tall and blonde one, with his shirt tucked into his pants and his red shoes. I still can't tell if he's watching me like I watch him. I'll probably never know.
And so begins April. It better get warmer. And I better start writing again.

Hi. I can't sleep.
Found this. 

Behold. 
Now, you won't be able to sleep either. Misery loves company.

Well, the dog in the office with me is snoring. That's about how interesting my life has been getting. 
I think I'm having a permanent existential life crisis. Like, what am I doing? Where am I going? How am I going to get there? Do I want to end up there? Can I change where I'm going? Why am I going there? Questions like that usually keep me up at night.
Speaking of sleep, I really haven't been doing much of that lately. I spend hours on the phone talking to a boy that I think I like but actually have never met in person. You know that dating site? Yeah? The one that I signed up for on a whim? He's one of the people who started talking to me on it. It's been about a week and half since I gave him my number. He's quite attached. Quite, as in very, as in a lot, as in maybe too much. A week and a half. Love? Good lord.
When I have a problem, I don't tend to wallow and mope. But I don't try to fix it either. I just ignore it and pretend it isn't there. I do that with a lot of things, a lot of people. Other guy still comes over to talk to me, but never the other way around. Instead, I tend to try to ignore him and pray that it'll just go away. Go away. You're blocking my view of perfect guy, whom I still am married to. In my mind. I love you. Don't leave. Stay at work forever. I am a totally healthy human being.
Speaking of healthy, I was doing pretty well. Eating fruits, vegetables, staying under my self-imposed calorie limits. And then yesterday came where I stuck an entire loaf of bread in the oven and consumed the entire thing in one sitting. Very healthy, very slimming. And so commenced my three and a half hour gym visit where I stayed on the elliptical for seventy five minutes and took an hour long yoga class. I still didn't burn it all off. At least I can run about an eight minute mile. It's impressive to me at least. 
And that's saying something. 

Thoughts from the treadmill: Maybe I'd rather like a person who doesn't exist because then I can control what happens and I won't have to get hurt. Because you can't be heartbroken if the person you love can't leave if he's always in your mind.
It's thirty one degrees out there today and I am wearing my usual hundred layers of clothing in an attempt to keep out the cold. I've got the heat on, my jacket tucked in around me, and the door closed. And I am still freezing. Freezing, freezing. It's a permanent state of being. I can't even begin to express how much I need spring to come. There are so many reasons and I wonder if I'll even make it another month or so of this weather. It's even more obnoxious when I have to walk the dog that isn't even mine and it starts sleeting halfway through. Sometimes, ten dollars isn't enough.

I saw a movie last night. I should learn to read the book after I see the movie because I can't ever fully appreciate the movie for what it is without comparing it to the book. Each difference feels like a slap in the face and I have trouble getting it. I had someone tell me that people should appreciate each medium for what it is without trying to force one to be the other, but I can't help thinking that with everything that we know about the success of movies, why can't a movie that is based off of a book try to be as true to its counterpart as possible? If the person has blonde hair, make the actress playing the part have blonde hair. If someone is supposed to be wearing black lingerie, don't make it blue. If the food offering is supposed to be lemon meringue pie, get lemon meringue pie. Why can't script writers at least try to work with the material already there?
I understand creative license and how some things won't work conceptually in a film. Believe me, with all of the Nicholas Sparks books I've read, I can see why someone would want to change the ending to some stories. However, I will never understand changing some big events and small details, especially if the book is a part of the series where those things play larger roles later. And I will not ever forgive a film if characters are written out. No. Apologies not accepted. How would you feel if you were in a story but someone decided you weren't worth the effort? That you weren't important enough to keep around? Authors don't create superfluous characters, just like God doesn't create people who aren't important. This has nothing to do with religion, but I think everyone exists for a purpose. So don't take someone out because you'll change that purpose.
Also, M. Night Shyamalan should never direct another movie. Ever. How would he feel if someone decided to pronounce his name like "Em Nite Shamallamamama"? Because that's what he did to The Last Airbender's characters. That movie was a big disaster. It hurt my soul and not many movies can do that. So, congratulations, Mr. Shyamalan. Or Mr. Shamallamamamamalalaman.
I apologize for this rant. Well, sort of.

Snow, intermittent glimpses of spring, rain, ice, work, misery. I'm sorry I haven't written in over a week. I'll do a summary.
Basically, I joined an online dating site out of curiosity and I probably shouldn't have put a picture of my face up. Good lord, I can't begin to tell you how many creepers have contacted me. I recognize that it's not that I'm gorgeous or attractive or whatever. It's the desperation of some men out there that they'll settle for anyone who looks half decent in their profile picture. I know I look normal, young, and well-adjusted, so these guys think, "What have I got to lose. I'll just send her a message." And as long as the message doesn't say, "Hey, can I be the hello to your kitty tonight?" I can handle it. 
But maybe I'm too nice. No, I am too nice. Because now I have guys that won't leave me alone. I try to be tactful and obvious, but I don't want to hurt their feelings. Plus, I find one of them very attractive and I like having conversations with another. But is that worth it? I know I don't want a serious relationship with them and I know I say honesty is the best policy. Feelings always complicate things, whether it's your own or someone else's, and I don't want to string them along. I should be upfront about it and stop this. I should.
These experiences have given me some insight into the guy that I was seeing. Maybe he's afraid to hurt my feelings or he does genuinely enjoy our conversations, but he's not interested in a relationship. And he doesn't know how to tell me because he doesn't know what I want. So, we're just awkwardly putting up with each other every other day because neither one of us has the courage to say anything about how we feel. Maybe. Or perhaps he's just interested in my girly parts and he talks to me just to keep that option open for later. 
Every day I see the one I like, though. Working, training. I stalk his Facebook. Like a stalk stalker. A stalking stalk stalker. A creeping creep stalking stalk stalker. I really can't tell if he looks at me because I'm looking at him or if he's looking at me out of coincidence or not at all. I spend most of my time on the machines there trying not to look and failing miserably and staring and staring, until his head turns in my direction. Then I immediately avert my gaze to the treadmill or to the elliptical or to someone else in a blue shirt at the gym and try to forget that I care about someone who only exists in my mind. Because that's really what this is about. A boy that I've made up. 
So, anyway. Happy Valentine's Day.

I am so tired today. In retrospect, it's probably my fault for staying up so late but it was obnoxious waking up at three in the morning. It took me an hour to fall back asleep. My alarm goes off at five thirty. Naturally, I am unhappy about this.
What I am happy about is that I can run a nine-minute mile. This may have taken me about ten months to accomplish, but at least I got there. I even ran an extra five minutes just to stew in my own gloat. Or maybe it was because he was there, bent over the elliptical in front me, trying to fix it. He is so adorable. It's a shame that he probably doesn't even know my first name. Well, maybe he does.
It's been two weeks since I made another bad decision. The other guy doesn't text me anymore. He'll respond if I text him, which is rare, but he no longer initiates. He'll come over to me in person usually. That doesn't mean anything, though. Perhaps he's finally letting it die. It's bittersweet. I no longer have a guy to use. At least my unhealthy obsession isn't as guilt-inducing as it has been for the past month and a half. It's really embarrassing how much I stare at him. At everybody, actually. I'm sure I've developed a reputation for being that creepy girl who only does cardio exercises in the back.
I'm so proud.

Superbowl. I should stop watching football. It's too stressful and it's so obnoxious. My father literally gets crazy. It's completely embarrassing when he talks about NFL conspiracies and how someone deserves to die. I know that I don't really like professional sports and I'm not a guy, so I'll probably never understand the crazy. But I think there are more important things to life than a ball moving up and down a field with men trying to tackle each other to the ground. It's just entertainment. Like a movie or a television show. We watch it because there is nothing else to do and we want to escape whatever it is we have to do. Society spends a lot of time and resources on entertainment. You'd think we'd never be bored. Irony is that we're almost always bored. Myself included.
I should be sleeping. I should almost always be sleeping. Why did he come up to me to say hello? Just let it die. If you're not going to text me or invite me on a date and not just another hook up, then stop being nice to me. If you're afraid of hurting my feelings, don't be. I'm a big girl. I can handle someone not being in love with me. What I'm starting to not be able to handle is the guy pretending to be the "nice guy," but actually being just like the rest of them - only after the girly parts. I'll give you my girly parts willingly. You don't have to pretend to like me. Ta da. I'm a slut.
Maybe that website is right - don't blog "late" at night. 

It's Saturday. I have nothing to write about out. As usual. But I'm here, trying. Which is a good step forward. 
It's Groundhog Day. Phil didn't see his shadow. Early spring? Early spring. There's a fresh layer of snow on the ground. I won't hold my breath. Shouldn't it be the other way around? A sunny day means a shadow, but the sun also means warmth. Shouldn't that equate to an early spring? Because if it's cloudy, like it must have been today, it could mean snow. And snow means more winter and more cold and more depressing days with no texts from the other guy. I know I don't really have feelings for him. I know it. I just wish I could just keep someone around to make me feel like I'm worth someone's attention. 
I try to be independent and I know that I can be completely alone without being completely lonely. I was alone for most of my life and even though I pined like a regular teenager, I functioned just as well. I may have even been more sufficient without a boyfriend than when I was with one. I am definitely better off alone. I know that. So why do I keep staring at my phone and telling it to get a text message? I just have to face it. Maybe I'm just tired of feeling like I have to be strong and happy when all I really want to do listen to sad songs and watch romance movies.
This could also just be PMS. Yeah. Let's go with that.

"A drop in the ocean, a change in the weather. I was praying that you and me might end up together. It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert. But I'm holding you closer than most, 'cause you are my heaven."

I should start a new blog where I read and review books. That might get me motivated to start reading again. I don't know why I stopped. I love to read. I usually read all the time. I'm not sure what happened. Today, I'll go to the gym and read on the treadmill. I have to start somewhere.
Now, I have this book called 642 Things to Write About that I purchased during the holidays. I was going to give it as a gift, but I have since kept it for myself. It's here sitting on my desk as a reminder that I am a selfish child who keeps items purchased for other people for herself. The silly part is that I have only opened it once and I still haven't even begun to write in it. Somehow, I lost motivation to do things that I used to enjoy. I probably would still enjoy them if I would just start again, but I wish I figure out what happened to make me stop. I guess other things just seemed more important. Things like sleeping and watching television shows and eating. Well, maybe I'm just rationalizing it now.
I should write. Right now. Right? Write.