Contemplating songs about the weather channel.

My therapist says I don't need a man to validate me, I just need to have sex with him on the couch in his office for 200 euros an hour. So yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

There is one thing though (and I'm pretty sure this won't violate any confidentiality), The Boy and I could never have worked out anyway. How do I know? Well, firstly he lives on the other side of the world (and yes, I do realize Switzerland is not technically the other side of the world , but for all intents and purposes it might as well be) and secondly, because he walks around the house while brushing his teeth, instead of just standing in the bathroom in front of the sink. You know, like a normal person. Bastard. It freaks me out, and it’s probably the most irrational fear I have but when I'm washing my face (because sometimes my face gets that 'not so fresh feeling', ok?) or brushing my teeth I'm constantly afraid someone is going to sneak up behind me and bash my skull into the sink and kill me, so obviously I can’t have somebody walking around when I’m doing all these secret things that involve me bending over the sink. It may be a result of watching too many horror movies or maybe it's because one time someone actually did that to me and I died and dying is not as fun as you might think, especially if you have to clean up after.

So, I’ve decided I’m done with The Boy and I now have no choice but to focus on my dear, sweet, sexy mailman again. And I might have gotten a little too drunk yesterday and sent him an inappropriate message, despite some appropriate advice telling me it would be a Bad Idea. And it may have read something like:

"Dear Mr. Mailman, the truth is I have always been in love with you and I know you're married and you have 9 children and you're my mailman, but you're so gentle when you put my magazines in my mailbox, making sure not to tear a single page, and I suspect you have always loved me, too, so let's not fight it any longer, let's be together, today, now, I want to rip your mailman uniform off you and have hot mailman sex with you in your mail truck and if I can't have you I see no reason to continue this charade of a life I am living. Please be my baby's daddy. I don't need chocolates or flowers, just you (in full mailman uniform as mentioned), me and your mail truck. "

Now, I fully understand this may backfire and I’m at serious risk of not receiving my mail ever again. But then maybe, just maybe he’ll ask me to be his Mail Wife and live happily ever after with him in Mail Land.

And why should the good times stop now that Monday is looming on the horizon? Why, damn it, why? It shouldn't, exactly, I couldn't agree more, you are so intelligent, this is why I keep you around, I love you. Umm. Wait, what just happened? Where was I? Oh yeah, tomorrow, in honor of my mailman I will be practicing a very impressive experimental dance choreography, expressing my undying love for him of course.
Lovely.