Well, first of all, I spent the majority of the morning thinking that today was Friday, February 13th. This flawed perception of reality thus led me to believe that tomorrow was to be the infamous February 14th, the "V-Day." Blech. As I've mentioned, I've been dreading this year's Valentine's Day to a very uncharacteristic extent. So, to purge the awful and stupid pang of panic I felt at the prospect of an unvalentiney Valentine's Day, I concocted the following scenario:

1. I imagined up a boyfriend (which, by the way, is also very uncharacteristic of me). He was fabulous in every boyfriendy way, and we were very much in love. He did all sorts of sweet boyfriendy things for me, we spent oodles of drippy time at each others' apartments, he made me feel like a goddess, etcetera-etcetera, yaddah-yaddah, blablabla, bull-and-shit.

2. I imagined bringing groceries to his place one eve after work, and walking in on him being ridden like a stallion by some tramp I'd never seen before.

OK, it's not fair to call her a tramp. For one thing, that term is based on a double-standard, and I don't use it. Also, I didn't hypothetically blame the hypothetical Other Woman for hypothetically fucking my hypothetical boyfriend. He was hypothetically hot, for one thing, and thus quite hypothetically fuckable. More importantly, the hypothetical woman had never pledged any commitment to me, hypothetical or otherwise, whereas it is to be assumed that the hypothetical boyfriend hypothetically had.

I then imagined hypothetically dropping the groceries in the doorway, causing the hypothetical eggs to break, before I hypothetically ran out the hypothetical door and directly to the neighborhood pub. (The pub, it so happens, is the snippet of this psychodrama that is most firmly based in reality.)

3. I imagined sitting at the pub, crying, drinking whiskey, and smoking, sort of in a zoned out state of shock. I imagined wondering what the hell happened and what I was going to do. I imagined thinking about how our whole relationship had been a lie and how deeply and irreparably he had hurt me.

Then into the pub walked Mr. Hypothetical Boyfriend, himself.

I imagined myself assuming he was going to apologize tearfully, and preparing myself to gently say that he fucked up, it was over, and that I'd someday find it in my heart to forgive him. Instead ...

4. My imaginary boyfriend, against the flow of my willed imagination, regarded me crying into my whiskey with a smirk. He then smiled, clapped me on the shoulder, and said, "Don't be so cliche," as if he had done nothing wrong and that I was (a) over-reacting, and (b) ANNOYING him. The RAT BASTARD!

WELL!

5. I imagined getting so unbelievably angry at this patronizing and insensitive treatment that I was struck speechless. I imagined shooting him a scathing look of death, which I rarely do but have been told I'm QUITE capable of, and then I imagined getting off my barstool and beating the ever-living shit out of the fucker. Punching him in the face, the stomach, breaking shit over his head, the works.

It seems that everyone at the bar sympathized with me, because no one intervened. I beat that motherfucker until my knuckles bled and he crumbled like a widdle baby.

Mother of Pearl. I'm twenty-five years old, I'm still making up imaginary friends, and they're not even nice to me. And then, I beat them mercilessly.

This is what happens when you go about 10 months without owning a television. You're brain gets really hyperactive, and you end up composing alternate realities by the copy machine at work, pacing furiously and getting increasingly riled up at your imaginary philandering boyfriend. That's right, you create fantasies, and then dash them into the rocks. Actually, I think it's probably just me.

I'm not a bitter-about-love pessimist, but I'll tell you, after the whole awful situation had panned out in my head, I felt fucking incredible. Mind you, nothing of the sort has ever happened to me in reality. Well, nothing so graphic, anyway. Nonetheless, I was vaguely heartbroken and angry at my figment of a boyfriend, and rationalized my way through a grieving and healing process. I then decided that imaginary boyfriend wasn't The One, but was a mere warm-up for future loves, imaginary and otherwise.

I began to pity imaginary boyfriend for not loving me like I deserve to be loved, because I'm such a catch, and was prepared to fill him with something warm and wonderful. I mean, falling out of love with someone can't always be helped, but MAN was imaginary boyfriend missing out! I decided not to question myself, because FUCK HIM THAT'S WHY! I replayed the whole beat-down on the movie screen in my head, (which is where everything happened in the first place, anyway,) and I felt enourmously satisfied.

"Don't be so cliche." Dude deserved that beat-down.

For the rest of the day, I've felt so magnificently righteous in my singletude. I'm all jazzed up about Saturday, which just so happens to be Valentine's Day, when I'm planning to attend a play with a bunch of my friends, followed by drinks afterwards.

HA!

Stupid imaginary boyfriend. I didn't even give the wanker a name.

I, um, do realize how unstable this makes me appear. Whee!

What else did I do today?

Well, I had my job appraisal meeting with my bosses. I totally rocked.

OK, so a little explanation, for those of you who don't know. I am assistant to the CEO and CFO of a corporation. I write stuff, get stuff, file stuff, copy stuff, and hand stuff out. My office is rather separate from the rest of the floor, as I'm in the "Executive Office Suite," and the hallways directly outside are lined with the accountants' offices. This being the case, I don't interact with my co-workers as much as they interact with each other. I do, however, work closely with CEO and CFO. Anyway ...

Get this little excerpt:

"Kelly is very accessible and helpful and sometimes assists with desktop applications when we have a conundrum, and we have many. Kelly has a good sense of humor and is well read. She is respected by the Staff and the people she works closely with, in particular. Kelly gets an A."

Now I don't mean to be flip or disrespectful, because man oh man do I appreciate it, but all I can say is that the person who used to occupy this position must have been an absolute moron for them to think I'm so wonderful. I'm really not bragging ... I just think that they've formed opinions of me based on a comparison with the nightmarish employees of yesteryear. I do my job, yes, and I do it well, and pleasantly. I enjoy chatting with my bosses, and they with me. (CFO said I am a "breath of fresh air." Whereupon I clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Don't be so cliche." Just kidding.) But seriously, it's not a difficult job. I feel a little guilty.

Immediately after the appraisal, I sat down at my desk and continued doing what I do for about 80% of my work day. Exactly nothing. Well, whatever. When you're done, you're done.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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