I Can't Take This Serious When You're Just Having Fun

"Breakdown" by Mariah Carey

...friends ask me how I feel / and I lie convincingly / cause I don't want to reveal / the fact that I'm sufferin'...

Consult T.T.Y.N...Possibly for context

Classes have started. My soul and my life are beginning to have some semblance of normalcy.

When I wrote T.T.Y.N...Possibly, the holidays were approaching. Everyone knows that I am out of town almost the whole break, visiting with family.

That is how we Africans vacation. We go to some relatives' house in a city or state we don't live it. I love it.

I was in Northern Virginia and Pennsylvania for a month, happy, fat, and doing nothing.

So, my conclusion was easy to put into effect. We weren't even in the same state. And I am very, very good about not contacting people. I rarely ever call or text this person at all. I sometimes don't respond to his correspondence.

When I returned to my neck of the woods of the Commonwealth, the correspondence was a little more frequent. My roommates and I pledged to party hard this first weekend after classes started because all of our schedules are very hectic and socializing will simply be out of the question this semester.

And in typical me fashion, encouraged by my nemesis, I texted him or called him (I cannot recall). He didn't respond but called me back some hours later and we fell in step with our normal routine.

But, this shall not be normal routine again. I have no plan of action. I don't want one because I don't want to invest mental energy into a plan that I won't follow. Que sera, sera. The girls told me that the true test would be coming back home from break. And it was the true test. I failed.

I just don't want to want him anymore. This is dumb. This is the stupidest, most insignifcant situation in my life. I have a dramatic, full, interesting, depressing, exhausting, aggravating life to attend to. However, here I am writing about damn Mr. Jones again.

I wish the 30th century man would hurry up and come back from Africa already. I need a distraction, a useful distraction. With the 30 century man, I at least have a shot at a regular courtship. He might buy the cow. Mr. Jones ain't buying no cow anytime soon, and especially not this one. F man, F.