On April 26th I met Benedict Cumberbatch. Well, my Cumberbatch, anyway. Like 15 weeks ago.
Prior to that I had been celibate for almost 3 years. It was hell. I literally thought, was convinced that no man would ever touch me again. But then, my spinster hymen was broken. And some kind of fucking spell was cast. Cupid? Something. Cause I was smitten.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt decidedly smitten before. But it’s unleashed now. It’s a delicious feeling. And I’d be lying if I said I was not still fucking smitten with him. But I’m actively trying to push his ass out of the house that is my heart.
I’m also super smitten with Andy. Ditto Ed Norton. Ed is kind of a frontrunner, but he’s seeing other people, so maybe he’s not that into me? But I’m seeing other people, or I was until the opt out plague of ’18. And it doesn’t mean I’m not super into him. I am.
And, metta alert. I have to write this like Ed doesn’t read it. Yet I know he’s reading it. Yeah. Good thing Sybil is my fucking middle name. Cause I have to split my personality to do this insane thing I’m doing with this here blog. Didn’t think it all through. Story of my life.
At least with life I know how it’ll all end. Death. Duh. But this story, I wanna skip ahead to the ending.
I’m so impatient.
I can’t stand the wait.