149 days until graduation. And counting.

Exam season. Gah! I sat in Panera for 12 hours today – literally – without emailing or surfing or chatting on the phone . . . just me and the Internal Revenue Code. It's startling to remember that I pay *dearly* for the right to be this miserable.

Yes, it's whiny and self-indulgent to piss/moan so much about this whole law school thing. This education has been a privilege - both the opportunity and the experience.

And I'm ready to be done with it. They really do an excellent job of nudging us toward the door. A few short months ago I thought that I'd be digging my claws into the furniture; now I'd happily trade a kidney for the opportunity to wrap things up early.

At the very least, it's lovely comfort to think that at this time a week hence, I'll be raising a glass to hail the passing of the Worst Semester Ever.

You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

-Dr. Seuss, "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch", (c) 1957

*Sigh*

It's like excising a tumor, getting rid of a man who's gotten in. It's a painful and painstaking process, whether the relationship was measured in weeks or years. Initially, you feel as though you're suffocating in the him-ness of the world around you, but you lick your wounds and carefully unweave what's been woven and slowly extract yourself from the mess and sad and wrath, and before you know it, it's been a year and he's barely a flicker in the slideshow.

And then the fucker pops up again, when and where you least expect him.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Mr Guile has resurfaced. If you'll recall, it was the Rather Brutal Ending of that short but intense relationship that led me to start this (very sparse) blog. It's been about a year since we'd last connected in any way. It's been just enough time that I'd edited the story in my mind and pretty much ceased thinking of him at all, except in the extremely abstract.

Then suddenly he's there at bloody church cavorting with MY PEOPLE! I did what any grown-up would do: I snuck covert peeks until I confirmed that it was him, then pretended I hadn't seen him. I avoided that man like he was a rat in plague season. Actually, to my credit (and dismay), I didn't even notice him at first. I don't know if that's progress or funky brain chemistry.

So, he waits the obligatory day and a half, then sends me the white flag email. Hits all the right notes: breezy and casual, remorseful and snarky. Apologizes for being a prick (his word, though I can't help but agree), drops more of the IshouldhavekeptintouchbutI'msobadaboutthat, hopetokeepseeingyoumaybewecangettogetherforcoffeesometime, blah blah type chatter. Of course I responded in kind, but there's so much else I would have loved to ask.

Mr. Guile, what are you hoping to accomplish? Are you merely trying to make a potentially awkward situation a little less so? in which case, I commend you, since I likely would have continued on the "ignore it and it'll be like it's not there" path. Are you hoping to find absolution for old demons or guilt by making nice-nice to me now? Is it friendship you're hoping for? Rekindled romance? Do you even know?

Then, while we're being honest and open, there are a bunch of other things I could tell you. Like how enraged I am that after all this time, the shock of seeing you nearly knocked me over. Like that in some ways, I'm still so terribly hurt and angry over how things went down between us. Like how I have to admit (squirming, uncomfortable) that a not-insignificant part of me immediately wondered if this was a sign that we should start things again, and how that thought simultaneously filled me with joy, foreboding, and much discomfort. Like how the chemistry between us is intense enough – at least on my end – that merely being in the same room made me woozy and wobbly-kneed.

Seriously? Go directly to hell, Mr. Guile. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Do not mess with my head or my heart again. I need this right now like I need an extra set of tits.

I can't believe I'm here again.

I think I hear my exit music. This town is too effing small for me to keep on with this online dating business. And let us be honest: I haven't really been an active participant in a while anyway.

So, I'm studying at a coffee shop today. Haven't really done that this semester, but I just needed to not be in the library today. I noticed this guy kinda smiling and looking at me a couple of times. Finally, he sort of gestured toward me and said, "are you a law student?"

Me: "I am."

Him: "I bet you'll never guess how I know you."

Me: "ummm...nope. I have no idea."

Him: "xckvjnkjhfk"

Me: "Sorry – I didn't quite catch that."

Him: "Did you used to do online dating?"

Me: "I did."

Him: "Yeah, I've seen you. I winked at you. Or maybe even wrote to you. You never responded."

Me: "That's kinda my MO. I never end up writing back to anyone."

...then a bunch of awkward chit chat about small Ann Arbor. Gah. That's the second time this has happened to me. And that's just the times that the guys have said something. Now I have to wonder how frequently people recognize me and don't say anything. This is in pretty serious conflict with my everbloomin' desire to be invisible (except when I don't want to be...you know how it is.) As drama goes, this is small time. But it did give me the mild willies.