I have a million flaws and no redeeming qualities.

I’m so fucked.

How does one even lead a life of leisure?

The beginning of this post potentially suggests that some kind of tragic, sob-sob-wah-wah love rant will be expressed… this is not entirely true, so don’t roll your eyes at me. I have been lying here for the past hour, channeling my inner romantic, and evoking excitement in every atom of my heart whilst contemplating the idea of “love”. (I am in one of those moods where I could write a Nicholas Sparks like novel; more philosophical and less cliché though.) As depressing as it gets - it has occurred to me that no one, NO ONE, is romantic anymore (except for bears). Obviously there are cute things which people do for one another, like hold their hair when they’ve taken too many drugs and need to throw up, or sew a button onto something because the other can’t sew, or… share their sleepy tea when the other person can’t sleep. Things like that are always nice and commendable on the relationship front, but it’s not romantic. I understand that the definition of “romance” is arguable - it’s an opinion thing. (I know this because some things I find romantic, my past significant other used to find completely ridiculous.) And that is fine. (No, it’s not really fine but we’ll just pretend it is because I can’t be bothered arguing with myself.)

So one night, I asked my “tired” boyfriend if we could go on a “spontaneous and exciting late night date together”; he bluntly declined, dejectedly responding with something like this - “Um, no, Babe. We can just watch a movie instead, I’m… I just can’t be bothered.” (Pfft. Okay, thanks. I’ll just go and sigh some more.) This perfectly exemplifies the preceding idea - not everyone is on the same romance page. In fact, some haven’t even located the fucking book. (/Fail.)

Okay, okay. So anyway, the whole movie, bed, little spoon/big spoon thing; blah blah blah, very nice, very lovely, very coupley. Whatever. But like, NO. I don’t want some generic movie night where we watch half the movie that I don’t even like, then make out, and then fall asleep… NO! Undeniably, those nights are fun most of the time, but the occassional dose of spontaneity is totally mandatory. I want to do run/jump cuddles, kiss under the stars, talk about things like forever and wear necklaces with each others blood in them. 

I need to go and get a beverage, this topic is stressing me out. 

The Loneliest Whale in the World.

In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem:

She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by.

I henceforth promise to be depressingly happy.