Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

her about what happened with Emma, and how it made me all speechless and ridiculous, she’d be like: Phoebe loves Emma.

Ha ha.

11:55 P.M.

OMG.

Sunday, May 27 #WTAF

I’ve got a crush on Emma, and I don’t have time to have a crush on Emma.

And how did it take me so long to realize that’s what was happening? Especially when I’ve so obviously been displaying all the classic signs of this insanity:

incessant social media stalking

jealousy

sleepless nights

constant adrenaline high

no appetite

brain ache

I’m not Pat, I’m Polly. And I think that might actually be worse.

This is not happening to me.

Just no.

I feel like I’m in the wrong brain.

I did a yogalike headstand against my wardrobe this morning, because apparently it’s good for your organs to gravitationally rearrange themselves every once in a while, and I was hoping that the pressure on my head would somehow awaken the few sane synapses I may have left in my brain.

I stayed upside down until I was about to pass out, and it did help, because two minutes later, I was like: You can do better than this, Phoebe.

So here’s the plan:

Don’t fancy Emma.

Also, there’s no point in fancying her, because even though she’s hinted she may be into girls, it’s not like she’d ever fancy me back, because:

a)  I’m socially awkward,

b)  I’m ridiculous,

c) I’m not funny, and

d) I’m the idiot who goes on and on about how we all die alone to people with dead brothers.

How funny that it never occurred to me that I could be into girls, even though I realized today (while standing on my head) that, as a lifelong fan of Doctor Who, I never actually fancied the Doctor until she was a woman.

I’ve never had a crush on a real-life girl before.

To be fair, I’ve never had a crush on a real-life boy before, either, so that’s neither here nor there.

What’s happening to me?

I’m going for a walk. I can’t cope.

4:40 P.M.

Walking didn’t help.

I don’t have time to have crushes on people, I’m busy with exams. My brain is working at full capacity, I don’t have room for fluffy shit like this.

I’m too confused to study, so I’m going downstairs to watch crap telly.

6:56 P.M.

When Kate and James got back from their day out, I was still lying facedown on the sofa.

All the kittens had climbed up on top of me and gone to sleep, Richard was pressing right on my bruise, but I couldn’t even be bothered to make him move.

It took Kate and James fifteen minutes to notice I was even there, underneath all the kittens.

Kate just sort of looked at me and went: “Phoebe. Are you feeling okay?”

All I was thinking was: I’m literally in hell, but what I said was: “I’m fine.”

Kate: Have you eaten?

Me: Not today, no.

Kate: Have you spoken to your mother?

Me: Not today, no.

Kate (observing me like I’m an alien or someone about to spontaneously combust): Why don’t you try calling her, and then you can help James make dinner.

Me: I’m not hungry.

Kate: Tough shit, pet, because you’re eating.

Classic.

9:05 P.M.

I ended up having to give Mum a summary of every exam I took this week.

Halfway through our conversation, I remembered about my plan to work for NASA, and Mum was like: “I think that’s very ambitious and a brilliant idea, baby.”

I wish I could sign up already, because a mission to Mars is exactly what I need right now.

11:09 P.M.

My brain wants me to think about kissing Emma, but I reckon once I’ve gone there, I’m doomed. I’m trying to not finish that thought, even though I can see its outlines already lurking in the shadows.

11:11 P.M.

You know when you’re trying to not think about something? It basically doesn’t work.

11:23 P.M.

I suddenly realized that I haven’t actually ever kissed anyone I fancied, and that time Toby Daniels tried to suck my face off in Year Eight pretty much scarred me for life, because

a)  his tongue was enormous, and

b)  he tasted of cheese and onion crisps.

11:44 P.M.

Maybe I should study all day every day this week so I don’t have to see Emma at all.

What am I going to do?

Monday, May 28 #NotInLoveWithEmma

There’s an article in the Metro today that may just save my life:

“Five Tips on How to Get Over That Annoying Office Crush.”

When I got on the bus, it was on the seat I was about to sit on, so I think it’s the divine intervention I’ve been hoping for.

Here’s what to do:

Avoid being alone with them, for example in an elevator or in a meeting room.

Avoid taking the same lunch hour.

Say no to after-work drinks.

Remind yourself that you have a life outside of work that is worth living for.

Is this person actually your type, or do you simply enjoy flirting around the water cooler?

Okay, so the first three can obviously be easily achieved.

Number four is a problem, because I don’t have a life outside of work worth living for, and five is entirely unclear to me, because I don’t think I have a type, and I wouldn’t say I enjoy flirting, because I basically don’t know how to do it.

Since this list is a bit general, I decided to make my own How-to-Fall-Out-of-Love-with-Emma list based on the one from the Metro:

Avoid being alone with her (stockroom, Kate’s house).

Avoid going to Starbucks/Sprinkles.

Say no to after-work activities (i.e., kitten time).

Remind yourself that you do have other friends (sort of: Polly).

Could you actually live with the embarrassment of coming on to Emma and her recoiling in horror?

I think number 5 is the key to regaining my sanity here. I think I’d rather die knowing Emma respects me than knowing I’ve made an absolute tit of myself and that Emma is now going to never stop laughing.

Also: Emma’s ill and wasn’t at the thrift shop.

I’m quite impressed she managed to schedule her disease for half term, because imagine having to take exams while being mucus central.

Tuesday, May 29 #ChickenSoup

I took a picture of a recipe in the “Cooking for Invalids” section of The Woman’s Guide to Cookery