If you only knew

The first time I caught a glimpse of you
Then my thoughts were only of you...
I know that we're only friends
I hope this feeling never ends
If I could only hold you
It's the only thing I want to do
--- Green Day, "Only Of You"

Work was unremarkable. I came home and took a two and half hour nap! It's the Prozac making me sleep so much. I awoke at six, scarfed down some leftover pasta, and drove to Classroom Management. (Luckily, I had nothing due, unlike yesterday, when I finished a two-page reflection for Math Methods at the 11th hour.) Classroom Management was also wholly unremarkable; we discussed competencies seven and eight, a bit of the Love and Logic method, and watched a Harry Wong video again. We broke early because Ms. P had somewhere to go.

On the way home, T returned a call I'd made to her. We talked for about 25 minutes. I got to wondering about my fucked-up psyche. Now, T is a pretty girl, funny and smart, I like her a lot, and she has said outright a few times that she likes me a lot (as a friend). I obviously wouldn't mind dating her, but she's not interested, so that's fine; we're friends. During our talk, she mentioned "a fling" she had with some rock-star type and a few other romantic attachments she'd had. This didn't bother me at all, of course, as it shouldn't anyone sane.

So why oh why does the mere mention of anyone the Maddening Angel spends any time with, let alone romantic or dating time, get me so self-pitying and morose? It's pathological and sad.