It Tastes Like Thera-Flu.

It really does. Advice is like chicken noodle soup. Except the bits I've been getting recently taste like piping hot lemonade. Everytime I fall ill, Thera-Flu is the one medicine my parents recommend, without a doubt. It tastes nasty, but works incredibly well. It's not the wonder cure or anything but it's one of the few remedies that actually works with me.

Right now, I'm a bit sick. Sick of being love sick. It's dreadful. The feeling of unrequitted love.

Here's the quick synopsis of my first year at college [but more specifically, my personal life]: S ventures off to the Institute, goal in mine, feet on the ground. Well, partially on the ground. There's this boy she's been talking to for about a month via facebook. Despite not having met him in person, she's gotten swept off her feet. Girl meets Boy, girl likes Boy. Not vice versa, sadly. Their friendship develops, but all attempts at actually getting the Boy to acknowledge the beyond-friendship developments and behavior are futile. But who's to say he isn't aware of what's happening. The entire situation turns into a sort of fling. S, down-trodden and dignity out of the window, struggles to get a grip. What is going on? S gets advice [from various friends]. It all tastes like Thera-Flu.

What girl hasn't experienced such humility? I've thought of this time and again. I realize that I'm not alone. But it's just so frustrating! And every bit of advice I've gotten has led to a consensus: ditch the boy and find a new one. Easier said than done!! I turned to chick-flicks for answers. Nothing. Absolutely no answers. The "heroines" always end up living happily-ever-after with their love interests. Not to mention the abundnace of cliches, stereotypes, and gender-role defining contexts. Ugh. Sometimes I wonder why I watch chick-flicks at all. Oh yeah, because when I'm in despair, I see no rhyme or reason.

Moving on...

I was at a GoodWill, perusing the used-books section when I stumbled upon British Chick Literature. Millie's Fling by Jill Mansell. It's horrible. The plot is predictable, the characters are cliched [although you know Mansell's trying her best to make Millie and her posse seem as down-to-earth as possible]. Here's a synopsis [courtesy of Barnes and Noble],

"Bestselling novelist Orla Hart owes her life to her friend Millie Brady, whose rotten boyfriend has just left her. So Orla invites Millie to Cornwall, where Millie looks forward to a summer without any dating whatsoever. But Orla envisions Millie as the heroine of her next novel and decides to find Millie the man of her dreams. Except the two women have drastically different ideas about what kind of guy that should be."

I picked it up because I was desperate. Usually accustomed to something with intellectual merit, paying even $.2.99 plus tax for this mindless garb was something new. I was curious to see how Millie would overcome her guy troubles. Figures, things worked themselves out for the better. Millie, a beautiful, twenty-something blonde wins the man of her dreams and lands herself an entertaining job. Good for her.

I am not Millie. Clearly. I'm one the handful of non-fictional girls struggling to move-on from something that will never be anything more than a fling. It's like the feeling of being used. And you only comply to let your guard down for what? A moment of bliss with some you're head-over-heels for? Someone who obviously couldn't express their disinterest any more clearer? Although I was emphatically dissapointed with the novel, one moment in Millie's love story did strike a chord with me. It's the whole fear of someone using the knowledge of this crush to easily attain a favor,

"Miffed, Millie wondered if he had any more tricks up his sleeve. Like asking her to dance with him to something slow and smoochy, perhaps. Not because he fancied her or anything: just to get Sooo Sad off his back.
This was a scenario familiar from her teenage years, an effective way of letting someone know you weren't interested in them. The trouble was, when you secretly fancied the boy who was using you to get the message across, it hurt like anything when the music stopped and he declared satisfaction." (Mansell 391)

I find it dispicable when people [guys and girls, alike] know they've got everything going for them [in the love department] and experiment with others for sheer pleasure! And when someone actually falls for Mr. or Ms. Perfect, the aforementioned individual finds them boring and moves on. BORING?! What a horrible excuse! No one is simply "boring"! Pompous fool! Just because you may have some sex-appeal and suave moves to show-off does NOT give you the right to toy with a person's feelings! Goodness, people, get a grip! What's even worse is when they feel the need to feel sorry for you! Then they make you believe that they're only with you out of pity. Are you serious? For goodness' sake, do not lead someone on without real emotion backing it up! UGH!...Okay, that's enough of my rant.

My dilemma with the developing situation was finally accosted. Just before the school year ended. It's been made clear to me that we (the Boy and I) are simply friends. So that's that. At least that's what I thought. I absolutely do not want to be friends-with-benefits. Why should I sacrifice my self-respect and morals for someone who knows how I feel yet takes no action to stop what's happening? It's also largely my fault that the situation progressed at such a rapid rate. I'm constantly yearning for his attention and thus make myself available at his every beckoning. So pathetic, right? There! I've admitted it. En route to over coming this sickness. And the obvious next step is to move on. Just as my friends advised me. Medicine is bitter. And I hate it. But as always, it manages to alleviate something. I'll do it then. No feeble will-power this time! I'm going to move on. Or try to move on. There are more important things to focus on anyway [like finding scholarships, reading wonderful novels, and enjoying Summer].

I know I've made the Boy sound completely dislikeable. He's not. He's a wonderful friend. A horrible judge [pertaining to our situation]. He knows almost everything about me and I truly enjoy his company. I just need to learn to keep strong emotions out of an inherently no-strings-attatched friendship. He'll do his "exploring" and I'll just have to keep on a straight face. This little green-eyed monster needs to find a new color to don or sin will be her undoing!

Moral of this post? DON'T GO WITH THE FLOW. ALWAYS ASK WHERE YOU'RE GOING FIRST. Just a warning. Because swimming back to point A from point B, against the current, takes a helluva lot of strength. But if you do find yourself drifting off, get advice ASAP. The more bitter the medicine, the better.

Add salt to taste,

S