...the king on bethlehem's plain...

As always happen when I finish finals, I hardly know what to do with myself now. I have nothing that has to be accomplished, so I can watch movies, or read books, or go shopping without feeling guilty but I have this pervasive feeling in the back of my head that says, "No! You have something pressing to do" and that unsettles me because it isn't true.

Soundtrack: A Bare Naked Holidays
Reading: Baudolino by Umberto Eco

I worry to admit this because I'll be called fickle, any manner of things - but it is not going lovely with the boy. He's an artist. In that way that I don't understand because he sees poetry in everything, lives poetry, and I don't get it. So he'll say something poetic and deep (and don't get me wrong, beautiful) about my hair or the turn of my head when I reached over to get a glass, and I'll just want to laugh because it seems ridiculous. In addition to that, he's so caught up in poetry that it's the only thing he talks about, teaching about the different sounds of it. I love it, don't get me wrong, I love learning new things. I love when people are passionate about something. But at the same time, I don't like being lectured to. I want a boyfriend not a professor - so um... something will have to be done because I got home last night and it was as if my regard for him had just been turned off, like a switch.

Don't think I'm horrible, I know some of you will. Don't see it as a pattern with me because you remembered the past - this is how it goes, and you know that. You meet, you spend time, you learn about and see it's not for you, they're not for you.

Alright enough chit-chat, I need to get dressed. I am having lunch with Sheida, my queen of unintentional comedy, who is in town this week. And so, goodnight.