My heart is in my throat while I wait for The Neighbor to get home from a blind double date.
He’d forgotten he’d already promised his best friend to go out with this girl; he’d told me about it with an eye roll and an indifferent shrug of his shoulders.
I told him to come over afterwards, but no time was given.
The date started almost 4 hours ago and I’m about to go to bed lest my guts roil over or I gnaw off my own arm.
I feel like puking out my emotions; a long, hard run earlier did nothing to ease my anxiety. I think I’m supposed to surrender to it.
And I expect a text from him that says, “Too tired. Another night,” because that’s how he rolls. Wish I did, too.
[UPDATE: I was right.]