I recently met someone who made me swoon. He’s tall, funny and incredibly handsome. We have a million things in common and have a great time when we’re together. I feel the butterflies when I’m with him and always look forward to when I’ll see him again. After meeting douchebag after douchebag, this is what I’ve been waiting for and I should be happy.
But I’m not. Because having a crush sucks.
You probably think I’m crazy for thinking this way – I mean, what’s more exciting than having a crush!? – but having my emotions tied to someone else is taking it’s toll on me and I hate it.
Why, you ask? Well, let me break it all down for ya…
I am no longer in control of my own feelings: My days are now dictated by whether her calls me. If I don’t hear from him, I am sad and, as cliche as it sounds, drown my sadness in sweet, fatty treats. Even worse, I take out my frustration on my friends. And if he does call? I skip around my house with a big cheesy grin on my face.
I’m annoying: I talk about him all the time. I vent, I brag, I go on and on and on about this boy, somehow fitting him into every conversation I have. I’m pretty sure my friends (and bosses) hate me.
I’m always waiting: For him to call, for him to ask me out, for him to kiss me.
I have to wear makeup all the time: I can’t let him see me with bags under my eyes or this giant zit on my chin, but putting on makeup every day in the off chance that I may see him is making me crazy. And my Mac foundation is expensive, dammit.
I’m over-analyzing: “What did he mean when he said this?” Or, “I know he has email on his phone; he definitely got my last message! WHY ISN’T HE RESPONDING?”
I can’t do work: When he does call me, I’m so excited that all I can do is think about him and talk to my friends about it. When he doesn’t, I sit around and wonder I did wrong and if I should call him first.
I have to shave my legs: Just in case he decides he wants to take me home and have his way with me.
I sensor myself: No, I don’t change who I am for this boy, but I do try to lay off the swear words/fart jokes/”that’s what she said”s so as not to scare him off. And, let me tell you, that. is. hard.
Crushing has left me tired, cranky and 4 pounds heavier than my single (and ready to mingle) self. I’m about ready to throw in the towel and pick up a kitten or two. Anyone else ever feel this way?