I tend to receive emails from Jane (not her real name) at odd times. Take today, when I was relatively happy.
I don’t know what possesses her; is it a natural tendency to morbid thoughts? the natural conclusion of a twisted naivette? I’ve been hoping for somebody to tell me for the longest time. There seemed to be a ‘passing of batons’ between our mutual friends, and now it appears that I’ve been ensconced firmly in her driving seat (without option to bail, what’s more).
Having spent about 5 years wondering, I finally, in a fit of sheer frustration, demanded that she explain the reasons for her feeling the way she did/does/WILL. I expect a reply first thing tomorrow, with oddly placed line breaks (my favourite peeve) and admonishments. I will be taken to task for not caring, for being typically male (and therefore, insensitive: I love stereotypes), being a chauvanist who, in my wished-for short span of existence, will never understand the subtilities of the female mind, who–
Well, yessss…
All of this is just a preliminary, mind, I can see it already. My silence, which she finds disturbing, will spur her to ask me about my day, week or month, i.e. she finally decides a much saner way to introduce me to her world of incessant complaints (yet again). After a few exchanges, we will promptly conclude that life isn’t fair, that men suck and that the best men literally do suck.
All in the span of a day, after which my mysterious and often-flighty friend will disappear for a week or two…
And then it starts all over again!
p/s: Jane, you just need to get laid, and badly.
