I'm not going to use this as a form of communication anymore, even hypothetical. It's just for me. Thank goodness I've told only a few people about it.
* * *
And now I've said that, I don't know what to write. I know what happens when I "journal," and I don't want that to appear anywhere online, so pure free association is not the answer.
I'll tell you (and by "you," I mean "myself") what prompted me to check if I still even remembered the password for this blog. I am unhappy in love, δύσερως to put it Greekly (let's see if that font works).
Not so much unhappy. Mildly miffed. I'm lucky to have a boyfriend who's very nice, but my one little complaint is that, especially during the week, he'll forget to call when he said he would. Why don't I call him? Because he told me he might call lateish, and by the time midnight rolls around I'm not going to ring him. And sending a text when I know he's probably asleep would just be passive-aggressive.
The end of my last, distant, wildly unsuccessful relationship began when he stopped calling as often, and then contact dried up altogether. I don't think this is what's happening now. But I'll admit I feel a twinge of resentment that he didn't send a quick text saying we'd talk tomorrow. This emotion is sufficiently unreasonable and unattractive that I won't reveal it him. So I'm writing it here instead (like Midas' barber whispering to the reeds, though I hope blogger doesn't give me away).
