It's 10:19 a.m. He's taking a drink at the foundation, as scheduled.

10:21 a.m. He should be heading to the cafeteria just about now. Why hasn't he talked to me in months?! It's because he hates me, I know it!

When I go home, I'll have to check his blog to see if he's mentioned me.

I step out of the bushes in the quad. I put away my binoculars and try to look as inconspicuous as possible to look as inconspicuous as possible as I brush leaves out of my hair.

On the walk to fifth period (which I have carefully planned out so that my path just happens to coincide with his).

I see couples talking happily about Ski Bum and suddenly feel the urge to kick something small than I am, which would be a little hard to find, being as short as I am.

Later, as I sit at my desk frantically scribbling love poems and programming my calculator to somehow get him out of my system, I wonder, do I even have a life anymore?

I have to study twice as hard for history now because my mind is cluttered with little useless facts about him, like the heights of his siblings and his Social Security number. (Don't worry, I don't use this information for evil.)

In my spare time, I read books and research things that, through secret sources, I have found that he likes, hoping to wow him the next time I talk to him, which could be months from now because it takes me days even to gather up the courage to speak to him.

I can't even carry a full conversation with anyone when he's nearby because my SPR (Special Person Radar) tells me he's close and makes alarm bells go off in my head.

No. I don't have a life.

Unrequited love isn't relaly worth all this wasted brain space, time and anguish, not to mention that this obsession probably isn't healthy.

Why can't I spend my time like a normal person and not spend every waking moment adding a new girl to my hit list for talking to him?

Every day I resolve anew to hate him or at least not spend hours wondering if he knows I exist, but I can't help it.

I still think about him all the time, even though it pains me when he forgets my name or doesn't notice me.

And yet, I don't mind the pain. It is something for me to do on those rainy days indoors. I can take out my scrapbook and look through my collection of photos taken from the back, locks of hair and pencils that he's touched.

But perhaps this obsession is not my fault.

"Falling in love seems to have a similar effect on the brain as using cocaine," according to a bbc.co.uk article on first love. "It's so pleasurable it's almost like an addiction."

Whatever the cause, though, this fixation will get me nowhere, so I warn you other unlucky hearts out there. Don't become like me, someone whose entire existence hinges on someone else's.

Stopping is not as easy as waking up one day and deciding to hate him, and conditioning yourself to stop thinking about him by punching yourself every time he pops up in your mind is not going to help either. (Trust me, I've tried.) Eventually, though, you will find that there are other people out there.

That special person may not have the same goofy smirk, the same embarrassing laugh, the same ugly hair, but when you find the right one, maybe he'll be watching you from the bushes, too. Or is that just creepy?

Status - Completed, ? Comments

Joy R.'s Blog - http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=poolofgreenjello



posted - 9:03 PM