There are times when I don't want to write anything. I said I would write about love for a hundred days. Why? Why is it so important to me? Some nights I sit at my computer and think, who's stupid idea was this? I'm not in love at the moment, I don't have anything profound to say, I don't want to be rambling on about sunshine and rainbows and drive my friends crazy.
Yet I'm still doing it. Even if some of my ramblings are short, I'm still sticking to this project.
I think the angry side of love comes out in me in these moments. The jealous side. Why am I single? Why is everyone else married? Well, why not? I haven't been going around proposing to anyone lately. Ever. Perhaps that will be the next instalment: I'll spend a hundred days proposing to a hundred people. Or not.
When I get jealous I get sad. I have a little pity party for myself. I think about how the whole world must want to shut me out. It only last for a moment. But it's a party that wants to be thrown occasionally. A party with a guest list of one. One big moping sourpuss.