"Neurotic, paranoid, totally inadequate, completely insecure. It's a pleasure."

So here I am, three days post-blissful date, and still with no phone call from him*. I am driving myself insane with the myriad of questions that only I can seem to generate from one encounter. Did I do something wrong? Am I too young? Am I too old? Not pretty enough? Not smart enough? Too smart? Blah blah blah.

PSD has dutifully told to me to "Get over it!", urging me to relax. But then on the other shoulder is S stating, "If I was interested, I would have rung by now."

Great.

Of course, I am a chronic worrier when it comes to my dating life (or lack thereof). And the fact that he might have a life, is obviously irrelevant. To prove my sense of insanity at the moment, I came home from work with an incredibly urge to go for a run - and I did. Then when I came home, and washed my hair, I tried to lather the shampoo into my face.

Fucking great.

Luckily the plans for the rest of the evening involve me trying to inspect the bottom of this bottle.







*He hasn't earned a pseudonym yet, so consider it pending.