As Seen On TV

I just wrote all over my face. I was tapping my pen against my chin, so as to appear deep in thought, only it turned out I had the business end pointed towards me and instead of looking thoughtful I just looked like an idiot with black scribbles on her face. So then I had to go scrub it off in the bathroom and now my chin has no makeup and it's only noon. It feels like Monday, but I deeply, deeply wish it was Friday. Except I'm not that excited about Friday either. I really just want to eat candy. And be in bed. And if I could eat candy while in bed, I think that would be the pinnacle of success for me.

I have this friend from college who is supposed to come to T-Town this weekend. I can't believe I just wrote T-Town. That's so stupid. I suppose I could just delete it and write Tucson and you'd never know what a dork I am, but I'd rather leave it so I can then provide commentary on my lameness. Lameness commentary: Done. Anyway. This friend. (who could totally be reading this blog, but probably isn't, and I will continue to write about him anyway, because that's how I roll). We dated-ish in college, and then didn't, and now we've been back in touch recently after a few years of not being in touch and now he's coming to hang out for the weekend. Which is cool, I could definitely use some friends and it's nice to connect with people who knew you way back when. Except I am feeling a little uncomfortable about the whole situation, like maybe he thinks we're more than friends? But we're not. But he might think we are. Last night we were chatting and I decided I needed to get all these thoughts out in the open so it was sort of like this:

Me: When are you planning on going home?
Him: I don't know, when did you want me to leave?
Me: Well, IwanttogotochurchonSundaysoifyouhaveanissuewithityoucanleavebeforethatbecauseIdon'tknowwhatyouthinkisgoingonbetweenusbutwe'rejustfriendsandIhave aguestroomthatyouarewelcometousebutwe'rejusthangingoutandwe'rejustfriendsandIdon'twantittobeuncomfortableifwehavedifferentexpectationsaboutthisrelationship.
Him: Um, OK, well I'm at the movies so I'm going to have to go now. (This casualness is his attitude towards everything in the world and it Drives.Me.Crazy. And not in the good way.)

Bleeeeeh. That went well. And then I'm thinking about it, and I'm like, I don't want him to stay through church, I don't want company for the whole weekend, I don't want to have to be responsible for someone else having a good time, I don't want to clean my house, I don't want to change the sheets on the spare bed again, I don't want to have to explain why there is no food in my refrigerator and 240 black and white ribbons on my table or why my TV doesn't work or why my DVD player doesn't work or why my backyard is a dust bowl. TOO MUCH PRESSURE!!! This is the part where I crawl into bed with all the candy and don't emerge until 2014. Except not, because I am at work.

There is really no point to this story, other than that I feel tumultuous. No, you can't feel tumultuous, it's an adjective. I feel unsettled. What is wrong with me? If I would just stop over analyzing every little thing, I could probably have a nice fun weekend catching up with an old friend, and maybe eating something other than frozen dinners and fun size Kit Kats. Blarg, you guys, just blargh blargh blargh. And for extra effect, meh.

I'm so happy to have the internet as my diary.