I thought I was muffin

I am writing this from my Team Sweden safehouse, and I'm not sure whether it is a nice silence or a lonely silence or just too much damn ice-cream in one day. Someone's music is drifting up from the street, and it's kind of nostalgic. I really, really hope it's not Phil Collins.

I've made my escape from Maniac Mansion and now I'm hoping that things will fall into place the way they usually do, eventually, when crises happen. Although Team Sweden (in the extended sense) has provided exemplary service in helping me settle in and feel loved, there is still a big hole in my life and my bank account. I really thought by the time I was 27 I would have sorted this out. I think the biggest problem which becomes insurmountable on days like today is the fact that you have to face the brutal truth about muffins, and how, no matter how much you wish you were one, there will always be another.

Let me explain the muffin phenomenon.

My friend who I have affectionately termed Canada Boy told me how he used to call people "muffin" as a joke. As in, "Oh don't worry muffin, it's all going to be ok, let me buy you an icecream". One day his ex-girlfriend got very upset when she heard him calling another girl "muffin". "But I thought I was muffin!" the girlfriend said. Big mistake. "No-one is muffin, there is no muffin, in fact I don't actually call people 'muffin'," he protested. Evidently, she didn't believe him, and in what may or may not have been a related incident they broke up soon after. I guess you just can't go back after that kind of betrayal.

Today I had that feeling. There are far too many muffins, and hey, I thought I was muffin. By the way that's another horrible thing about unrequited love - you quickly discover you are not muffin and worse... that other muffin is quite attractive. And since when is SHE muffin? And what's wrong with me, aren't I good enough to be muffin? And on and on ad nauseum. The muffin phenomenon has the added side-effect of giving you the urge to do stupid things to reclaim your muffin-ness, like spilling your heart by text message (I think this is a very unwise idea, but so horribly tempting. Perhaps I should extend my "no alcohol and computers" and "don't drink and dial" rule to "no texting past 8pm". Hell, let's be on the safe side and evolve that to an all-inclusive policy of "no electronic communications while under the influence of alcohol, PMS or extraordinary lunar activity").

Anyway after my lonely nostalgic day I sent Canada Boy a message saying "I got that 'hey, but I thought I was muffin!' feeling today."

His response? "Aww, muffin".