Nessun Dorma

At a certain point of your life, you have to make your choice. Between right and wrong. Between yes and no. But who's to tell you what is wrong and what isn't? Who's to tell you instead of being happy, you should try your best to be normal? I know I am not special or outstanding. I am average. I am not exceptional. I am not unlike everyone else. I am a little(tiny bit) different. I am sometimes normal. I wish I can be smarter and braver. I wish I can be prettier and sexier. I have made a lot of stupid mistakes. I'm sure I'll keep making mistakes. I have lost my faith in marriage. I am afraid of making commitment. I hate to be a disappointment. All I want is happiness. But most of the time I can't even trust myself. Yes, I am lazy. I am weak of will. I always choose the easier paths. I don't work out. I love junk food. I fake orgasms. I use sex as a decoy. I even convince myself I like furry man with hairy butt and garlic breath. I am such a shameless liar. I should have won the Academy Award a dozen times.

Tonight, I can not sleep. I twist and turn in my narrow queen size bed, my heart and soul whining at the same time. I am lonely. I am bored. I am ashamed of myself. I am unhappy with my life. But I am afraid to change. What if I can't get anything in the end? What if I come back to the same place? What if I end up as lonely and unhappy as ever? What if everything and everyone remain the same? What if no one wants to change? What should I do with my life then? Get married? Pop out kids? Wash dishes? Do laundry? Consider myself lucky that someone wants to marry me? Eat, drink, fuck, shit, and then die? That's it? Jeez.

I sit up in bed and let out a sigh. My hair, as usual, is a mess. My left eye starts to twitch. My head starts to ache. I need to do something. I need to make myself happy. I don't want to waste away the rest of my life like this. Live in regrets. Die in boredom and, of course, loneliness. I wish I know what to do. I just bought 5 pairs of shoes and an iPhone 5. I have a little money in my bank account. I still have my not so crappy car. My landlord has agreed to pay for the new security chain and locks. I have lost a little weight. I know I look more than just okay. My biggest problem is I look more than just okay. A certain tall lean hairy Italian keeps wanting to get back into my bed—well, any place will do, it seems:

"Let's have some fun in the backseat of my brand new Chevy Equinox, Cupcake." Last week Joe Morelli smiled his seductive smile and tried his best to charm me with his bedroom eyes. "The boys miss you." He literally purred.

Oh, yes, it was a cold windy rainy Monday night, and he knew he's a really nice-looking man. Everyone says he's good in bed. He's indeed extremely experienced and always ready to try new stuff. I have known him for ages. He's safe and familiar and fun to be with. And we have a long complicated and not always pleasant history together. Normally I would have blushed and spent a couple minutes playing coy before letting him have his way with me. But that night was...special. I was having the mother of all PMS. And I hadn't heard from a certain Mocha Latte somebody for 19 days. I was feeling down and low and antsy and worried and upset and royally pissed. "The boys miss you". The slogan of the decade. The spirit and essence of Jersey Shore. The glamorous tipping point. I don't recall what exactly happened next. Let's just say Detective Morelli didn't look so sexy or friendly after I stood up and dumped the rest of my iced cold Marble Mocha Macchiato on his head and stormed away. I might have also shown him my middle finger and cussed out loud enough for all to hear, as a matter of fact. Naturally we are currently not on speaking terms(as far as I am concerned, that is). But it doesn't stop him from trying all he can to crawl back into my bed. My mother called, called, and called again. He texted, texted, and texted again. I ignore them all and imagine myself in a happy place.

Yes, I know that happy place. I have lived there several times on different occasions. It has everything, EVERYTHING that I want. But I don't have the courage to go there. Even though I know he won't turn me away. I wish I know if I have a place in his life. I wish I know if he needs someone, anyone, in his life. I wish I know what's in his head. Suddenly a picture pops up in my head. It's Tard the Grumpy Cat. "I had fun once. It was awful." It says. I love that cat. I can't stop laughing whenever I see the sweet little cat. I know Rex may feel a little jealous, but I simply can't help it. I can totally picture him saying this:

"I had fun once, babe. It was awful."

I roll around in bed and laugh like a crazy chick. I laugh so hard that I begin to cry. I close my eyes and wipe away my tears. I listen to my racing heart. I give in to my yearning soul. I get out of bed and start putting on clothes. I pack a bag. I grab Rex. I turn off the light. I lock the door. I start my car. Somehow I am feeling brave. I am going to the Bat Cave. I am moving in with Batman. If he tells me he doesn't love or need me, I will quietly walk away. I will find a nice spot by the sea. And drown myself. Naw, I'm just kidding. I'll never have the courage to die. I am not that stupid or that brave. I am just an ordinary girl. I just want to have an extraordinary life. I'm just helplessly in love with a very special man.

And I don't know what to do if he can't or won't love me back...