Never been one for cliches

I got home on Thursday in a disproportionally good mood, so I thought maybe it hadn't hit me properly. So I tried some of the cliches, just in case. There wasn't any chocolate in the house, except for 70% Dark Chocolate, and after my experience with 100% dark, I can't bring myself within a 400 metre radius of the stuff, so I had a biscuit. But the thing is, I would've been eating Speculaas anyway, and there were only two left, so mostly, I was annoyed that there wasn't more Speculaas.
So I tried listening to some deep-as-all-fuck breakup songs. Unfortunately, I can't take any of these seriously, which is why I ended up listening to Tripod's That's why I'm Sending You... and then Oh! Darling from the Across the Universe soundtrack, before deciding that I would've been listening to those anyway, so I just added a bunch of other stuff to my On-The-Go playlist and left it at that.
There was exactly no photographic evidence of the two of us, so there were no poloroids to tear up symbolically, or desktop background to change, so that was out.
So now I'm doing the ultimate cliche, the blog. Except it's not an angry or sad or hateful or regretful blog. It's just a blog.

Now, before I sound totally callous, maybe I should recount the events of The Most Eventful Art Lesson Ever in the History of Ever. It started well enough, but then I had to break the news to Maddy and Claire, president and tresurer -respectively- of the Izzie-and-Alex fan club. Claire nearly fainted. And, thinking Maddy might kill me, I hid behind Reid. Now, it wasn't until Maddy started painting that I actually cried. Over-empathetic tears for Maddy is exactly it. I over-empathise with everyone, so emotional moments kind of get me. And I'm a drama nerd, so I can't resist symbolism. And Maddy being like a child whose parents had just divorced led to a good two minutes of tears from me and being at the centre of a half-art-class wide group hug (which I didn't participate much in).

I suppose the blog is to let my various stalkers know that I'm fine. And not the kind of fine where I'm actually dying on the inside and just want to be a martyr, actually properly fine. I have three states of being. Ridiculously Happy, Fine and Disasterous. Ridiculously Happy is usually in the presence of coffee or in the middle of a had-to-be-there moment and Disasterous is usually when everything seems...well...Disasterous. Now, there is no coffee and no major catastrophes have happened which would make me question the entire nature of the universe and what part I have to play and how to escape the 'Labyrinth' as García Márquez would put it then cursing myself for being so dramatic and pretentious. I am therefore Fine and of course we're still friends.
A great deal of yesterday was spent consoling people who were more upset than I was about something that happened to me. That's what you get for not being able to live up to the expectations of the melodramatic and the romantics.

Maybe I should end on something philosophical. Relationships may come and go, but friends are persistant bastards who stick around.