Random Channel Surfing

She gets home to the smell of fried fish and potatoes. Another one of his culinary masterpieces. She shuffles down the hall to her room, making sure to avoid their living room. She doesn't need to see him right now and the longer she puts it off, the better she will feel. But as she's crossing past their shared space, she hears him call to her. She stops. She turns around slowly. She forces a smile. He's at her side almost immediately, which throws her off even more. Why doesn't he get that she needs time alone right now? He smiles at her with his eyes alone, giving her the full package; ordinarily, the smoulder would work, but she's too annoyed to let his tricks get to her... too much. She averts her eyes and asks him what's up. Compliments him on the delectable smell that has been teasing her empty stomach. He grins at that and offers to share his meal; they need to talk. She shifts her bag nervously, still not meeting his hazel eyes. She knows this game. Hate

Nicole and I have come to the conclusion that in regards to love, we're in the same boat: neither of us believes in it. I never thought I'd be a jaded, cynical, unromantic person. I mean, I was the girl who fell for guys with a smile or hello . Now? I only believe in love in the realm of fantasy. TV romances, movie love affairs and love in books are all believable and relatable. Real life love? Does it exist. I mean, I no longer think of it as a question... my doubt is almost a certainty. I get that my parents have had a wonderful marriage (thank God), but can people my age find that nowadays? Guys like Dave, who are willing to commit the second they meet the right girl, are rarer than a vegetarian rig pig. Regardless, as unromantic and jaded and cynical as I am, I'm glad to be this way. At least I'm not glaring at the couple, cuddling at the bus stop or cursing at the couple kissing in the theatre. I'm not bitter after all.

No more regretting what you did. He was rude, selfish, cocky and he embarrassed you! So what if you won't get the pleasure of writing the GEs anymore? Who needs them? Trust. You'll be better without them.

Have you ever needed to bawl--to get that feeling that's congesting your chest with foreboding--only to discover that nothing you do (listening to sad music, watching a sad movie, reading/writing sad stories) will induce those much-needed tears? I'm currently facing this. I need to cry, but it's as though my tears are suffering performance anxiety because all I can manage are little pathetic hiccups and breathy whimpers. Normally when I cry , I go all out: that means loss of breath, gasping for air, sighing so deeply that it feels as though my soul will implode. Life, no matter what the circumstance, never turns out as we planned. End.

She glanced around the deserted street, thinking idly about the day she'd had at work. So many projects needed to be finished, but all she'd managed to do all day long was think of her deliciously off-limits roommate. As she climbed up the steep inline on her way to their shared apartment, she couldn't help but entertain the idea that he would be awake, waiting for her. He'd done it in the past, so it wasn't unheard of. Regardless, she knew it was foolish to entertain any fantasies pertaining to all six foot two glory that she shared a shower with. Nearing their building, she could see from the street that he'd left their hallway light on. It was a habit she'd noticed he had. She shook her head at his distraction and made a mental note to tell him about this habit of his the next time they bumped into one another. Climbing each step with the purposefulness of a slug, her ascent to her apartment on the second floor was anything but hurried. She kn