Humanitarian interventions

I just bought a skirt on eBay I'd been stalking for a year. That must be my personal record. I once stalked a Banana Republic wrap dress but even that ended in my closet in less than 8 months. 

That's determination alright. I know what I want and I go after it. I am a committer.

I guess I've always been like that: the first crush I ever had, I had a crush on all through school. After 9 years (!) I finally managed to pluck up the courage to actually kiss him. 

Even I don't know what to make of those examples. Yes, I want to commit, but maybe I really should just be committed. Is this kind of level of dedication even healthy anymore?

I know I've been miserable. To a point that people around me have started to genuinely worry. Remember how I thought I might be in for an intervention? And how I expected this blog might prove therapeutic, at least  preventing me from actually calling and talking to The Man? Apparently it hasn't. It might be time to bring out Xanax. 

I feel guilty for having caused this much concern for those who have helped me the most. What a loser they must think I am! Take my sister. Who clearly reads my blog. Remember, the sister who was as puzzled as I am? I'm not sure whether it's anger towards The Man or concern over my well-being but something prompted her to take action. She has wrote an e-mail to The Man.

It was a beautiful, heartfelt e-mail. C.S. Lewis has nothing on her (and I thought I was the verbal wonder in this family!). I don't know what to think. Gratitude for her concern and efforts to mend this? Shame for not being able to get through my own life? Embarrassment about knowing that even if The Man did react to it in a constructive way I'd always know he didn't take that leap because of me?

Why can't I be stronger? More sensible? More... over him? I once read about a woman who'd devised a 3-week plan to get over her ex-husband. Ok, it did involve smashing a house, but still. I too need to find a way to release myself from this. Because the thing is, even though there never was a wedding... in that proposal I did give myself to him. My heart has already made that promise.

And as I watch the life I never got to have flash before my eyes... I can't help but wonder. What if I'll never be the love of anyone's life?

I need to do something. Even the seagulls outside my window are displaying suicidal tendencies with their kamikaze-dives. Maybe "Secret" isn't such a bad way to after all...?