I’m currently on Day 5 of not seeing the boy. Normally, there’s a 3-4 day break between seeing each other every week. However, this week, the boy is working nine days straight, which means the break between seeing each other is going to be six or seven days. While I’m proud of him for being a grown-up and a hard worker, I’m really pathetic, and I miss him quite a bit. Normally, I hit this pathetic level around day 3.
Wait…mom’s probably going to read this at some point…and she will point out that I start whining about missing him on day 1 of not seeing him.
I’d say I’m in in boy withdrawal, but that sounds too Twilight. We are definitely not Twilight. I may be as clumsy as Bella, but I hope and pray I’m not that shallow and vapid. Plus, no one in their right mind would ever accuse me of vegetarianism in any form.
And now I realize that I’m really rabbit trailing, and I really do have something I want to write about.
I’ve been noticing lately that when I’m around the boy, I kind of turn into an idiot. See, this is how my brain normally is…
It’s all active, and mostly working normally. I’m able to communicate with most humans on some level. I’m capable of intelligence, and on special occasions I’m witty.
Now, when I’m around the boy my brain does this…
I have no idea how it happens. He’s smart. I’m smart. We’re two intelligent grown-ups. I’m crazy about him, and for some reason that means I go from intelligent to babbling ditz in less time than it took to read this sentence. I think the good part of my brain gets locked up by the bad parts of my brain, but it can still see the train wreck that is coming out of my mouth…and I’m pretty sure it hates me for it. I will be spewing absolute nonsense, and I can practically hear the intelligent part of my brain (the part that’s locked up) screaming, “What?! Where did that come from? Why would you ever say that? Do you have any idea how idiotic you sound right now? Are you attempting to make a joke? You know that wasn’t funny, right?”
For some reason, it gets even worse when I try to be funny. I’ll make some joke about something stupid, but because I’m actually trying to be funny, it doesn’t come across as funny. Apparently, I only have good delivery when I’m not trying. For example, last weekend I made a joke about how the boy totally needed a mirror ball to hang from his ceiling of the living room, and painting the walls hot pink and the ceiling black would absolutely complete the room. It was a joke. A terrible joke, that I may have brought up one too many times over the weekend. I’m pretty sure it was never that funny, and I’m also relatively certain the boy is never going to trust me with any interior decorating. Which is a shame because I really do have excellent taste.
I’m really hoping it’s not just me. I truly hope there’s a whole group of intelligent women who turn into Brain Slugged idiots around their boyfriends.