The post I had planned to write on Monday:
So things are pretty good with me at the moment.
I had a very nice weekend, the highlights including an old friend's birthday party, hanging out with the boy, fitting into my skinny jeans and dancing with Kat to Dolly Parton at the Cherry bar.
As for uni, I'm in a bit of an I-don't-care-anymore stage, which has its good parts, in that I'm not freaking out about it; and its bad parts, in that I'm not getting any thesis writing done.
I avoided studying on the weekend by reading The Year of Yes, which is a true story about a young woman's adventures when she spends a year saying yes to every date she gets asked out on. It's a great read, and I'm quite jealous of how many people ask her out and the fact that she lives in New York. I would love to live in New York. My only criticism of the book is that I found her I'm-an-extremely-well-read-drama-major-at-NYU schtick a bit tedious, but the great stories and the way she writes makes up for it.
Things are good with the boy. After a bit of a rough patch things are starting to get good again. I think the time I'm happiest is just after we have this amazing sex and everything feels right with the world.
The post I write today instead:
All of the above seems kind of irrelevant today.
It seems I've been dumped.
And I'm not quite sure what to do, or what to say.