Ok, so the Relationship is dead as a fucking doornail as I mentioned yesterday. And I'm really not all that torn up about it. I'm sad, because we did really click, but I'm also sort of . . . relieved I guess because, as Zach keeps reminding me, spinsterhood gets a really bad rap, and a big part of me believes it really is my natural state, and when a relationship ends I always sort of sigh as the stress of NOT being a spinster melts away. I like cats. I read old-lady books. I like living by myself. I love gossipping with my fellow old biddies. I haven't managed to maintain a romantic relationship for more than three months since I was 19. Come on, the evidence is pretty damn overwhelming.
So why do I keep checking my email every 5 minutes? I know he's not going to write. I don't expect him to. Dead as a fucking doornail. But the pre-breakup pattern remains. So . . . I had this BRILLIANT money-making idea. And I'm sending it out free over the internet so someone with the skills can actually develop it. Someone needs to create some sort of software that could be installed that would allow a computer user to access any websites they choose at only pre-determined intervals. Now, a little google search produced this software, but it's for KIDS and doesn't do quite what I have in mind. Surely someone could create something similar for adults! And think of the marketing opportunities! Businesses would love it, internet addicts, the recently broken up . . . I tell you, a gold mine.
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2 comments:
Um, what, purposely limit your access to the internet? I don't even understand that concept.
The important question is, did you go see Josh Ritter on Saturday?
I wouldn't even consider it except in cases of dire emergency.
I didn't see him, sadly. I ended up working Saturday, and,after 7 hours answering phones and folding towels, I was way too knackered to drive 2 hours down to Boise. 10 months of not working has made me even wimpier than I used to be. But I finally bought The Animal Years, and "Idaho" is in constant play on my ipod.
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