You know the feeling.
You meet someone that you really like, you swap numbers and you wait for them to call.
You get excited when the phone rings - ecstatic when it's them, woeful when it's not.
Your life becomes a rollercoaster as you swing from date to date, wondering where this is going, whether this is the one.
I hate that shit.
All of it.
I hate the lack of control, the inability to judge where I stand, the feeling of vulnerability.
I hate the other person for having such an effect on my emotions.
I resent how the whole process takes me - completely involuntarily - out of my comfort zone.
My body betrays me, my mind drives me to distraction and I am no longer myself.
The guy sends me flowers and I turn into a giggling wench.
He doesn't return my call and I'm Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction.
He returns it too soon and I turn into the queen of keeping-my-distance.
My life turns upside down at the drop of a hat and I detest it.
I hate how being in love makes me feel, but most of all I hate it for being missing from my life.
Florida Boy arrives in four days time.
Can you tell?