As in, resistance is. Prepare to be annihilated, bwahahahaha.
I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Come out of the bomb shelter. I’ll play nice, I promise.
Alllllll the way out of the shelter. There you go. See? No weapons of mass destruction.
Anyways. Lesson learned for us both. For you, don’t take me too seriously. For me, stop scaring the readers and get on with the post, Lauren.
Futile is the word of the day partially because it came up in the long list of synonyms for the word pathetic, which is more or less how I’m feeling today. Yes, the word forlorn also came up, and sure I could’ve used that, but I kinda wanted to make that really bad joke, and in my world, that’s more than enough justification.
(But, if you were wondering, I did happen to lose my sanity a while back. Haven’t had the chance to go looking for it yet, though…)
Futile is today’s word of the day, as I said, because it came up as a synonym for the word pathetic, and I have decided that today I hit a new level of pathetic. And, just to make it more blatantly obvious, I’ll announce it for all the internet to see.
Last year, around Easter, I was smack in the middle of a long distance relationship. (Still am, but it’ll be over by the end of this month! By that, I mean I’m moving closer, not calling it quits. ;)) The boyfriend was wrapping up exams and such and we were planning to have a few days together before he headed back home for the summer, and I stayed in Kingston, two and a half hours from our hometown.
He ended up being unable to come because a coworker bailed on several shifts she’d said she would take, because her (clingy overbearing manipulative) boyfriend didn’t want her to stay there but wanted her to come home for the summer.
I tried to hide that I was upset about it, but he knows me better than anyone, and he saw right through it. The day he was supposed to be here in my arms, he sent flowers. The card said Wish I was there. It wasn’t the same as having him here, but it made me feel better.
I’ve been thinking about that Easter weekend a lot today. How we both wound up in separate cities away from the people we loved, stuck doing things we didn’t want to do–work in his case and writing a behavioural program for me. He’s a tad more religious than I am; came from a long, long line of Scots Presbyterians. They can trace their ancestors all the way back to the first one who decided to come over to Canada, something I’m ridiculously envious of since my family’s history is so sketchy and shadowed. He goes to church on some Sundays when he has time and the urge, and his family celebrates major milestones there. As for me, my father’s a backslid (very backslid) Catholic and my mom’s a Protestant. I was baptized the latter, but personally hold no real religious beliefs other than doubt. So neither of us is too concerned about the religious aspect of this holiday. To me, it’s mostly a time to make up on sleep.
Still, I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll make the three hour drive without telling me, then call me from the parking lot and ask if I’ll let him in.
I know the odds of it happening are slim, slim, slim. But I have to hope just a little.