After my ridiculously positive relationship-based post, I reveal to the world that I am no more together than anyone else by saying that The Guy has a new Girlfriend, and I am Not Ok with it, even though I said and thought I would be.
I know this girl, she is lovely and pretty and a really good person. She was The Guy’s best friend for the last few months, and head-wise I am cool and philosophical about this – He was gonna move on sometime, he is co-dependant and needs an extra person to look after, She obviously liked him, and anyway, I dumped him and explained so eloquently to self why it is better to be a free and single lady rather than in a serious relationship that was inevitably going to end in tears sometime or other.
So now I want to revert back to ice-cream-for-dinner, spending days watching House and sulking in my room. Because now I have spent a week living with The Guy I remember all the great reasons why I loved him and why I was in the relationship in the first place.
Plus although I am greatly happy with the last six month’s artwork, the mark the university decided to give me is not up to par, thank you very much.
And even hours of watching Hugh Laurie growl across my laptop screen isn’t cheering me up. My theory is that my House-Rehab was partly so inspired and successful because of a couple of awesome dreams – one where I was dying of cancer and decided to spend the rest of my short life riding my white unicorn-type horse and the subtext was that I was House’s girlfriend, and dream number two where I worked for House and we were secretly in love with eachother but couldn’t let the anyone else know. My subconcious is a great place, even though last nights dream was mainly focused on a huge toilet roll unravelling down a wire.
Anyway, my suggested recovery plan is to watch other men I fancy growl across my laptop – Jeremy Irons in Kingdom of Heaven and Elizabeth, Rufus Sewell as a highly sexed King Charles II, yum yum – and gossip about The Guy and The Girlfriend’s new relationship with The Girlfriend’s ex, Mr Fun Man. Who gave me a piggyback when we saw dolphins in the bay and enjoys Singstar. Might plot a crazed wife-swap-esque plan, where I get Mr Fun Man to come on down to our seaside town and give me more dolphin-centered Singstar piggybacks, and incense the world of my friends and acquaintances with furious gossip about long standing affairs with other people’s boyfriends, which everybody loves talking about.