Oh, timing, you are such a bitch.
Six weeks ago, I wrote a column flaunting my ever-so-happy single status. I boasted that I – and all my fellow single ladies – had the freedom to do as we please. And in real life, I was truly enjoying my singleness and independence.
During the week, I had time to focus on homework, go to 6 a.m. dance practice, work at the Daily Nebraskan and, occasionally, sleep.
On the weekends, I went out with friends and danced up a storm. I stayed home to watch Disney movies and lounge in my sweatpants. I went to football games and yelled until my voice sounded like that of a 68-year-old smoker.
Single life was good.
But then, without warning, some tall, dark and handsome force of nature had to swoop in and ruin it all.
Let’s call this force of nature “Mark.”
Mark and I met in the very cliché setting of a bar on a Friday night. He bought me a drink, we exchanged numbers. Whatever.
Pretty soon we started texting. OK, no big deal, I thought. He seemed nice enough. Hey, he even used correct punctuation in his texts – a total turn-on for a grammar nerd like myself. (Although I decided I could let the occasional “ur” and “kool” slide.)
And soon our texting led to actual phone conversations. All right, I can handle this … Nothing serious. But unfortunately, he was charming and funny. I found myself smiling before I’d even answered the phone and beaming like an idiot throughout entire conversations.
What the hell, woman? Knock it off! You’re supposed to be enjoying the single life, not swooning like an effing preteen girl!
But it was already too late.
I had been happy being single. But now I’m practically giddy, damn it.
What is it with that little prick Cupid? His damn poison darts always seem to strike at the most inconvenient times, leaving their victims all sorts of goopy and lovey. Gross …
Just when I was getting comfy with my single life … BAM! Cupid sticks me, right where it counts.
But that’s the thing about love, or like, or whatever you want to call it: You can’t control it. You can’t schedule it. You can’t set a date for it in the future.
It happens when and where it wants to, whether you like it or not.
And maybe that’s why it can be so wonderful, so euphoric, so distractingly delightful: the lack of control. It’s a force of nature, a force of chemistry, a force of pheromones and instincts.
You can try to fight it, or you can just let it take control.
At this point, I guess all I can do is suck it up and accept the fact that Cupid’s got me where he wants me: with one dart in my chest and my singleness in his cross hairs.
Johnna Hjersman is a senior news-editorial major. Reach her at
johnnahjersman@dailynebraskan.com.
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