Not Just Waiting...

It’s 1am, and I’ve just put on my mud mask. My linguistics study materials pretty much cover my bed, but I’ve only given them about 20 minutes of collective attention. The midterm for that class is tomorrow, but right now I’m considering dying my hair with this lovely little box sitting on my desk. I’ve had about a quart and a half of Diet Pepsi, and it’s finally starting to kick in, so why study, I tell myself. You have ALL night. Not to mention that presentation for your research class is probably going to be postponed, anyway. Good thinking, self.
For some reason, my imagination buzzes at this time of morning. Thoughts for books; plotlines that have only begun to unfold in my head come alive. Others that have been knocking around in there for a while grow more complex and flesh themselves out. And I wonder why I have trouble sleeping, ha. I KNOW it has absolutely nothing to do with all the diet coke I drink. Occasionally, my thoughts drift to Prince Cocky (Prince Charming would be too grandiose a title for this particular male). At this point, he’s really only a possibility. A supporting character in the tapestry that is my real and imagined life, not without promise, but still a vague inclination. Friday was great, but I’ve been around in the world of romance long enough now to know without question that one good date does NOT a relationship make. Still… I can’t help but picture it. It must be that whole psychoanalysis thing that we did. The cube and the horse…so silly and yet so frighteningly close to, reality? I’m not so sure, but it seemed pretty close.
Anyway, as I sit covered in mint green gelatinous goo, I begin to write a story in my head, where my Prince suddenly comes to the door at 1am, and sweeps me off of my feet, (completely disregarding the fact that I am actually wearing mud, obviously) saying something along the lines of "I can't stop thinking about you." and "I just couldn't wait to see you again." Quite perfect in my head, really.
But... although my imagination can be quite vivid at times, I am reminded of one very spectacular truth. Unlike many princesses who sat in towers and brushed their hair or did needlepoint until their specific hero decided to grace them with his presence, I am NOT just WAITING. I am not content to merely exist until circumstances collide to make me happy, I'm going to make my own. So men, watch out. You might have to break a sweat if you want to catch me.

That is, if you can recognize me through the swamp goo...