Wrong! As soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind went into overdrive writing a letter to Mr. Hypersensitive, my mind was tearing out his heart and ripping him a brand new butthole. I’m so angry, hurt and sad.

Thus, it’s probably not a good idea if I do indeed jot those thoughts down on some college ruled notebook paper—no humorous card this time—and send it to his workplace address marked, “confidential.” It would probably make things a lot worse and a lot messier.

But, boy does he deserve to hear how badly he’s confused and hurt me, with his passivity, since he locked eyes with me for a solid, silent 20-30 seconds. Above and beyond normal flirting.

I guess it was a sham. Ever since I’ve thought about this guy every single day.

I mean nothing to him, really, cause if I did, he’d be learning all he had to to get me into his life the way he so often seems to when we interact. Mind you, he communicates between the lines.

It’s arrogant of him to think he has a monopoly on fear. I’m insecure in my own right and afraid to be too direct, besides he began this journey, he needs to take up the reins.

So, here I sit at 3 am, 2.5 hours after I initially went to bed. I thought I’d be snoozing right now, but my brain is stuck in this muddy, rain-filled trench trying to make sense of this Shit.

I’m shivering and hungry, but also nauseous, so I’m not going downstairs for a snack. That means my blood sugar is probably going to be screwed up when I awake,

I thought if I got some of these thoughts and feelings out, it would calm me down some. I think it has. I’m just left feeling hurt and sad.