Superfluous Third Wheel

'Last Christmas, I gave you my heart; but the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll carve yours out with a bread knife.'

A perennial classic, updated for the modern audience. Now, where's EMI when you really need them?

Thanks, sis'.

Reason me out of this sadness
'Fore I reason myself into madness

I'm far from okay
Getting further away

Wear my smiles with a frown
The tears of a Clown

This ship's going down
And I, with it

*sigh*

Firmly displaced from its indubitably tragic context, Saturday 18th yet enjoys top billing as the happiest day in living memory; of course, there remains little question about that.

Likely, I'll call her; probably, I'll forgive her; maybe, I'll get over her; perhaps, I'll adjust. But all give and no take makes Ryan a moribund boy.

After all's said and done: is this a friendship; or is it merely an elaborate, pro-bono consultancy? Certainly, I built all the bridges; furthermore, I crossed them. I constructed and traversed said bridges under a false pretence, to which she (mayhaps, a tad selfishly; albeit, I am certain, unintentionally), herself, gave rise.

I wasn't particularly sound of mind, prior to Monday's confrontation. I need to articulate my thoughts, to her; I need to call her.

Oh, Christ... I can't even blog straight.

Goodnight.

N.B. Birmingham: Law; AAA. First of the LNAT principals - go me.

Argh. Looks like I haemorrhaged my eyes.

But it felt good.

"Last Christmas I gave you my heart/But the very next day you gave it away/This year/To save me from tears/I'll give it to someone special."

Who am I kidding? There is no-one else that special.

In retrospect, I had nothing to lose but my uncertainty. However, it was a beneficial uncertainty; it was my panacea, and now, I have nothing at all.

Oh well: time's a wasting; and I have a half-bottle of Vodka in my room as we speak, growing cooler (albeit arguably, more potent) by the second.

So: nighty-night; and God bless those to whom it applies.

N.B. An amendment to the post, dated 4th December 2004: I do not have 'more friends than I could possibly need'; in fact, I have about the right number. Any less, and I certainly wouldn't be stopping off at the computer to tell you all this, en route to perfect, self-realised oblivion.

"It's hard to notice the ground beneath your feet, when you're trying to touch the stars."

Methinks that was the day that was probably the Happiest Day of my Life.

However, I took a tremendous risk last night; probably the biggest ever.

Umm...

*censored*

"I mean... it doesn't matter whether or not you see me as anything other than a friend: I can't help the fact that I feel this way about you; so, you might as well use it."

Cardiff: Law; AAA.

Oh, that I were but four years older.

There's a test, too. Albeit unrelated to the aforesaid.

Perhaps that's my dilemma. I appear predominated by a mean and disrespectful attitude regarding virtually everyone with whom I'm not utterly infatuated; and yet my bad side is, ironically, my most attractive side. How else could reality contrive itself in such a way as to afford me so many more casual acquaintances than I might possibly need, and yet so few of whom would actually seem to be of any emotional import to me whatsoever?

"As flies to wanton boys are we to the Gods. They kill us for their sport."

Way to go, Godot: why not just dispense with the preliminaries already, and have me wake up as a grotesque, man-sized insectoid.

Bloody... everything.

Leeds; Law; AAA.