Unlucky In Love

I've discovered why I'm so unlucky in love. It's because I never forward those emails or messages. You know what I'm talking about. The ones where the title is completely misleading and then when you open it, it pretty much seals your relationship fate for the next ten years. I think the first couple times I got those, I actually forwarded them. But then my wishes never came true and that one special someone never called at 11:17 to tell me how much they loved me. So I got cynical. I gave up on this system of tubes and wires finding me love. I guess that's how it should be anyway. But now, now I am wise to the reality of such messages. As much as the good things don't happen and the wishes don't come true, the bad stuff happens. And considering all the many messages I haven't forwarded, my love life will never ever be good again. It's statistically impossible. And really, let's face it, I need all the luck I can get. There's no way I'll attract a boy with my stunning personality alone. Maybe I wasn't made to be loved. Mistakes happen all the time. Maybe when I got my soul, they forgot to give me a match. Maybe the other half of the machine got jammed and some lucky person (or unlucky, depending on how you think of it) got two soul mates. That's it. That's what happened. Lonely little old me came out alone while Suzy McHotpants got two soulmates, and while I'm sure she'd be perfectly willing to share, it's not the same. I'm a semi-circle. A dome. A hill. I have no other half. And it's all technology's fault. The soul machine neglected me, and relationship chain letters have forsaken me. The pipelines created to make our lives easier have taken from me what it means to be human. I cannot love. And worse? I cannot be loved. I will not be loved. So here I sit. Alone. With the technology keeping me company. It is a drug, an addiction. The thinking monkey's crack.

Well I guess I better introduce myself. Hi. My name is Claire. I'm a 22 year old grad student at Columbia University. I want to save the world. No really! I want to be a peacemaker for the UN. I'm sitting here writing this because my therapist thinks it's a good idea. He seems to think that writing is a good way to release tension and relax. Or something like that. I don't always listen when he talks. Another thing I think you should know is that I can actually write well. This is just terribly informal and I have no desire to showcase my academic prowess. Just putting that out there in case somebody reads this and just can't help but think, "Didn't she just say she was in grad school? Then why does she write like an idiot?".

So now I can't help but think to myself, will people actually be reading this? Maybe. I mean, I could die in a freak accident and my roommate could hand my journal over to the press for a handsome sum of money. I wouldn't blame her. She never really liked me anyway. You know, I don't know why either? I'm not a bad person. I don't think I'm hard to get along with. I'm kind of shy, I guess. Maybe a little weird. Maybe if she had just liked me as a person, I wouldn't be writing in this journal. Because friends make you normal. And having her as a friend and confidante and someone to talk to would have kept me from needing to see a therapist and therefore writing in this dumb journal. So, Sophia, I'm dedicating this journal to you. Congratulations! It's your fault I'm "crazy".

Ok, so I'm not being completely fair to Sophie. It's not her fault that I'm "crazy". It's Blake's. You know, I take all that stuff at the beginning back. I was lucky in love once. It was Blake. But he's gone now.