seventy-four seconds too long

I cancel plans.

I postpone.

Sometimes I even make up excuses, although most of the time I try to be as honest as possible.

I guess it's just that I have an enjoyable time entertaining myself alone in my room. I can either be doing that or I can be forcing small talk in a crowded cafe sipping on coffee I can't afford. I choose the former.

That sounds harsh. Maybe I am exhausted from work? Maybe I am grumpy because I have that dreaded winter cold sneaking into my throat and ears? And there's even the possibility that maybe I am simply tired of searching for outside sources to complete whatever I think is lacking. (Note to self: Nothing is lacking. Nothing is everything, everything is nothing. Also: Go eat a sandwich.)

Here's what I do (and do not) want to say (rather, type) (enough with the parentheses) (you are becoming a caricature of yourself, sweet Meg): I do not like any particular person romantically. Well, I have tiny crushes here and there that last anywhere from 74 seconds to a fortnight. But very, very, very rarely do they go beyond the two week mark. Yes, I build you up in my mind. We all do that with one another. Yes, I plan our entire life together and imagine kids and dogs and vacations to forests and the Eastern states. Yes, we lie in the same bed and you brush your teeth while I take a shower. We stand in line together at the grocery store. We argue over the price of something we'll inevitably forget about once we get into the car. And you'll drive. And I'll wish you would have opened the door for me, but I'll be silent about it. Let's watch that documentary tonight, you suggest. I comply. Someday we'll grow old and ugly and rest our bodies next to each other in a city cemetery. And then the two weeks (or minute and fourteen seconds) are up and I am back on OkCupid searching for another fix.

Now what I really want to say is I'm sorry.