(A flashback to May 9, 2007)
Those who know me well know that I am deeply, fervently, profoundly paranoid. When life doesn’t present me enough worries, I create my own.
Recently, I was struck by a sobering realization; I have hogged more than my share of the world’s romance.
It’s true! I’m almost 22, and already I’ve had four boyfriends, all well-behaved, clever, handsome, outstanding men who treated me beautifully. (Okay, Crumble, maybe not you.)
I’ve been the subject of sonnets, songs, blogs, sketches, love letters, poetry. I’ve enjoyed kisses, flowers, chocolates, inside jokes, mix tapes, naps, movie nights, long walks (not on the beach, sadly), trips (if you can travel together, you’re solid), agonizing heartache, comfort and joy, stability, betrayal, sound advice, tons of best-friendliness, much of the legendary good stuff that comes from being in a happy relationship.
Have I…. exceeded my allowance? Have I used up all the romance that was allotted to me for this life, and perhaps that of some other poor girls? Does it work that way?!
No, of course it doesn’t work that way. It just FEELS that way.
The problem with having having been so loved is:
1. It’s hard to get used to NOT having it. I keep checking the mail for new sonnets, but they never come. I’m used to meaning the world to someone, and it’s startling when that someone moves on and forgets me.
2. I worry (paranoia again!) that these past relationships will interfere with the future, that the Love of my Life would be haunted by the idea of these old boyfriends— who, though outstanding, clever and handsome, were just real people, after all, flawed and non-threatening. And I imagine the Love of my Life would be a fairly secure guy, but hey, why shouldn’t he be as paranoid as I am? Heh! THAT would be a fun couple!
On that note, ladies and gentlemen, I will channel my paranoia into something useful; studying for tomorrow’s MUS 303 Final. Wish me luck. And jot me a love letter, if you’re not busy.