1. I'm the one mostly hurt, not the other person involved - I prefer it this way
2. The way it was done only showcases the immaturity of the one who did it - another reason I don't want him as a significant other
3. I always thought he was the one more emotionally invested - learning that he wasn't is humbling; there's no reason I should have assumed he'd be the one fawning over me
4. I'm now free to find somebody older, more mature, and more experienced - I imagine that can only be leaps and bounds better than someone younger, immature, and with as much, even less in some ways, experience than I
5. I've learned that partnership should be based on friendship; deep, personal friendship - something we weren't close to having
6. I just went through a major emotional first, and it was wonderful while it lasted - He was a great person with a good heart; there's no way I regret it
7. We've ended things amicably. Sure, I'm annoyed, sad, and a little hurt about being dumped. But then again I'm sure as hell not heartbroken - something a lot of girls' first romances result with. Mostly, I'm just sorting out the new feelings that come along with ending a relationship for the first time
8. It's a new year, a new semester, a new set of a roommates, and an altered social circle - there's so much room for improvement and enjoyment.

1. Get healthier and all that entails (who hasn't made this resolution, honestly?)
2. Watch/read/listen to more news
3. Read more
   
   1. Subsequently work on anayzing that reading, even though I'm not studying it for a grade
4. Expand my diction
5. Work on becoming a lady. I'm always trying, but I never get very far

            The phone is lying by her right ear on the pillow. She knows she is being pathetic.

            “Ring,” she thinks earnestly towards it, “ring!”

            The phone is silent.

            “Screw you,” she mutters angrily, turning her head to face the wall. But then she sighs, turning to face the phone again.

            “Why don’t you ring, you little plastic bastard? Why don’t you ring?”

            The phone, surprisingly enough, has nothing to say.

            “It’s almost New Years, you know,” the girl says conversationally, “and don’t you know what people are supposed to do on New Years?” The phone looks at her blankly.

            I am not people she imagines it is saying to her. I am a phone, and we do nothing on New Years.

            “Well,” replies the young lady to the quiet phone, “whether you want to know or not, they are supposed to kiss.”

            The phone is unimpressed.

            “I don’t know what your problem is,” the girl says, scowling. She folds her arms, once again deciding to wallow in her own weakness.

            “Look at me,” she says aloud, no one but the phone to hear her at this hour, “sitting here alone, talking to myself,” a look at the phone, “well, and a cell phone. What kind of a girl am I to sit here waiting for a call that’s clearly not going to happen? This is really awful, isn’t it?”

            The phone is still silent.

            “Your silence speaks volumes,” she says sarcastically. When the phone remains quiet, she becomes angry again.

            “Damnit! Why isn’t he calling me?” She sits up, angry but depressed. It’s ten minutes until midnight, and yet there is no call.

            When she looks back down at the phone she gets the sense it seems almost righteous in its stillness.

            Forget him she thinks it might be saying. Go to sleep and forget about him.          

            “Easier said than done,” she replies, laying her head back on the pillow. She suddenly becomes restless, leaping from the bed to pace. “If he’s not going to call,” she decides, “I’m never speaking to him again. Well, unless he speaks to me first. I will not be the one left out in the cold alone.”

            That’s the spirit, the phone seems to say.

            “Thank you, phone.”

            No problem.

            “But…you know,” she says, sitting back down on the bed, “things would be so much easier if you’d ring.”

            The phone seems to sigh in disgust.

            “There’s only five minutes left before midnight! There’s still time for a call or a text!”

            The phone seems somehow disappointed in her.

            “Don’t look at me that way,” she implores, lying back down. “I’m just a pathetic young girl in the throes of love for the first time in her young life. Aren’t I allowed some moments of irrationality?”

            The cell phone says nothing.

            “I know you probably don’t agree.” Silence. “Alright, I know you don’t agree at all. But what can I say?” She looks at the clock. “Midnight. And no call. I see how it is.” She turns away to face the wall again. The phone hears her sniff.

            Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

            She turns around. That was definitely a vibration. But when she picks up the phone to check for a text, she finds nothing.

            “Why did you have to tease me like that?”

            The phone doesn’t reply.

            “That wasn’t very nice.” She wipes a stray tear, sniffling again. “Unless, of course, that was you wishing me a happy New Years?” The phone seems to look embarrassed. Yes, she senses, definitely embarrassed.

            “Well, if that’s the case, then happy New Years to you, too, my little phone.” She smiles slightly, still sad about being forgotten by the boy, but warmed by the effort of her small, plastic companion.

            Happy New Years.

            A woman paces back and forth in a near-empty room. A man watches her with worried eyes from against a wall.

            “It’s a disaster! A complete disaster!” she moans, her hands wrung together in anguish.

            “No, no it’s not,” the man says to try to soothe her, though he knows that very well may not be true. “He has succeeded in his mission and that is all we could have asked for,” he continues.

            The woman is not convinced. Her head shakes as tears stream down her cheeks. She is most assuredly not convinced.

            “He may have achieved his target, but at what cost? An eye? An arm? How can he continue with us with such handicaps? But there’s no way I can remove him. He means too much to all of us!”

            And with this she lets out a feral yell and kicks the nearest solid item. It is a wooden chair that scuffs her shoe upon contact. She yells again.

            “Stop this!” the man screams. He stands up from the wall and rushes to her, grabbing her arms tightly to stop her outburst. “We will not remove him,” he asserts. “It will not be done – I will not allow it.”

            The woman pulls free, but not very far. Her long, black hair is knotted from all the times she has run her hands through it that hour, and one of those knots has caught on the man’s shirt button.

            The pain makes her shriek, “fuck!” and the loud sound, so close to the man’s ears, makes him react violently. He grabs her again, this time giving her a shake so harsh it causes her neck to snap back and forth viciously. The woman ceases her movement, falling silent and limp. For a moment the man fears the worst, until a small whimper reaches his ears.

            “Love? Love? I’m sorry, so sorry!”

            He releases his hold on her, and she falls into his arms, clutching them as tightly as she can, which is not very tightly at all, crying into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” the man continues to whisper. Running one hand down her back while the other holds firmly to her waist, he slides to the floor slowly, thinking of how this woman – his woman – has faced evil, killed men, and saved lives, yet is falling apart in front of his eyes. He begins to weep.

            “It’ll be fine,” he insists through blurry eyes and gritted teeth.

            “I don’t know how,” she answers.

            They lay on the floor for an hour. It is not very comfortable, but neither one is ready to leave the other in order to face a truth neither is prepared for.

            “What can we do?” the woman asks.

            “We train him to work within his capabilities. He is not useless,” the man replies.

            The woman finally stands again. She is composed as she was four hours ago, before the news of their felled comrade had reached her ears. She picks her revolver up off the nearby table, checking to see how many bullets are left. She knows that all are there, but the motions soothe her in a way the man’s words had not quite been able to. The weapon signifies the way in which she can get revenge – and those are the most comforting thoughts right now. The man is still on the floor, looking up at her. The woman looks down, then blows him a kiss. She piles her long hair up on her head, then grabs her coat.    
            The door doesn’t slam when she closes it, despite her rage. It merely makes a contained click as she lock catches. The man just lays on the floor and waits for her to return.

            It’s going to be a long night.

I need more Fred Astaire in my life. I only own Swing Time. Granted,  Swing Time is probably one of the best Fred/Ginger movies, but I need some more in my collection. For some reason his movies just brighten my day. This day's been pretty sucky, but one just listening to Fred sing songs like "Funny Face" and "Dancing Cheek to Cheek" and "A Fine Romance" just made everything a little better.

But I'd love to watch a whole movie of his. Maybe The Gay Divorcee or Daddy Long Legs. I don't know. Something happy. Even Holiday Inn might do the trick...

Sigh.
 

• Jo Stockton (Audrey Hepburn) from Funny Face

• Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) from American Psycho

• Batty Koda (Robin Williams) from Fern Gully

• 2046
  

• Lust, Caution

• Memoirs of a Geisha

• Down in the Valley

• The Painted Veil

• Cashback

• There Will Be Blood