the future of the program
because my chest feels like a nail bomb exploded inside it i walked around my house yesterday, seriously contemplating eliminating the offending organ by spending my (non-impressive) savings on an apoplectic amount of drugs so that my heart would explode. because i am a pussy, i instead walked around my house bursting into tears at various intervals and stared at myself in the mirror, amazed at how creepy and puffy i look when i've been crying on-and-off for several hours. then i made pasta and watched Dig! and after that i composed myself for exactly 2 hours, biked to a cheese store down the street and interviewed the cheesemonger about unpasteurized milk. and then i went to the gym and my iPod died.
disregarding the fact that i sort of feel like slicing my throat open, i made up a list of trivial things that i can no longer do now that the one person whom i've ever felt such intense Real People Feelings for never wants to talk to me again.
i can no longer:
take pleasure in laughing at the fat guy in the eggplant shirt who works down the hall
indulge in my fears of gaining weight/sucking at writing/wondering if everyone is making fun of me, and then having someone there to tell me i'm crazy and that everything is fine
take the elevator bank that causes me to walk by his desk
contemplate suicide and expect to have someone stop me and take me to a movie instead
watch him eat fried things covered in cheese and enjoy the taste vicariously
pick ends of the fried things covered in cheese and pretend i didn't really eat them because they belong to him
believe that i will ever be loved again
occasionally grab his ass on the escalator
this is fucking lame. i'm going to come up with some less maudlin things to write about.