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Diary of a Manic-Depressive Pixie Dream Girl

Image by Elena Barenbaum

Thursday Oct 19

Just met the hottest sad guy today at work! He sat in the corner of the coffee shop for hours writing his screenplay. I gave him free refills on his espresso and kept making eyes until he finally opened up and told me a little bit about his work. He didn’t say much, just enough to keep me interested. His screenplay’s about death. So deep. Actually, fuck this guy. I can’t commit to a relationship right now. I’m focused on me. If he comes in tomorrow, I’m going to ignore him.

Friday Oct 20

So that whiny hipster came in today and took up a table for three hours working on his stupid screenplay. I don’t even know what it’s about. The dude kept looking at me weird so I told him to either order another drink or leave. He looked all surprised and said something about yesterday. Hadn’t he felt some connection? I just stared him down until he grabbed his crap and left. You know, now that I think about it he was nice. I’ve been feelingly lonely the past few minutes, and some attention would make me feel more secure. Plus, he’s really hot. Maybe I was mean to him for no reason. Sometimes I overreact. We did have a decent conversation the other day, and his script sounds interesting. I’d like to know more about him.

Saturday Oct 21

Today was my day off, and I spent the whole time at the coffee shop waiting on that guy, and he never showed up. I hate him! How could he do this to me! Love is such a game of Russian roulette. But I kind of like danger. Maybe he just went to the cafe down the block. I should go see if he’s there right now! No, wait, they’re closed. Duh. It’s 2 am. Hey I know what I’ll do, I’ll stay up all night reading Ginsberg and writing love poems with bizarre imagery. I love life. It’s so weird and unpredictable, like me.

Sunday Oct 22

So I quit my job and spent half the day looking for that guy, and guess what? I found him at a Starbucks three blocks from my apartment. Yeah, his eyes just lit up when he saw me drag over a chair and stare at him in silence for two whole minutes. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek and then winked. “I’m sorry if I seemed moody last time.” He sat back in amazement as I read him my love poems. When I was done, he asked to put one of them in his screenplay. We went on a date, but halfway through I got tired of hearing him talk about himself and his problems, so I excused myself to the bathroom. Except I didn’t come back. I walked home. On the way, I stopped at a vintage clothing store and tried on oversized shirts.

Tuesday Oct 24

That guy’s been texting me literally all day. Real creepy shit like “Are you okay? What happened? Where did you go?” Weird. Right? Sometimes a free spirit like me just wanders where it’s needed. Like tonight I met some homeless musicians and we just chilled on a street corner until dawn, and then I convinced a random stranger to buy me breakfast. Treat life like a nonstop adventure. Hey, that’s what the screen writer guy should learn! That’s it, I need to let him into my world.

Wednesday Oct 25

So I’ve decided to let my Bohemian lifestyle inspire this screenwriter friend who keeps writing about death. He needs to find the beauty in life. Life’s not about darkness, it’s about finding a cool pair of shoes in the dumpster, like really ugly sandals or combat boots, and painting them with glitter. That was our first official date. But then I decided I hated the shoes and threw them through a window. That’s when I realized something important. I didn’t even know this guy’s name. Michael. His name was Michael. Great. I hate the letter m. Just my luck. I wasted two hours painting shoes with glitter, and now I’m trapped in a relationship with a guy I can’t stand. I’m suffocating.

Thursday Oct 26

Today I asked Michael to marry me. I’m not sure whether I meant my proposal or not, but it made me feel better, and he seemed really happy about it. We made out on his couch for a while, and he told me he’d trashed his old screenplay and started writing a new one. A screenplay about me. I was his muse. At first I was extremely flattered. But then for some reason, the idea of being his muse pissed me off. First I was like, who the fuck told Michael he could throw away a whole screenplay? That sounded impulsive. Even weirder, he wanted me to be his muse and his wife? That sounds like a lot of work. I don’t have time for that. So I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for about half an hour. In fact, I woke up the next morning in the bath tub. Not good. It made me really sore.

Friday Oct 27

Sad news. Michael won’t talk to me anymore. Our last conversation didn’t end well. He said I’m just too much for him to handle. He’s also decided to give up screenwriting. He’s moving back in with his parents to figure out his next move, maybe computer engineering. What a loser. Nobody wants to date someone who gives up that easily. I miss him. After all, he was a pretty good kisser. And kind. And smart. And kind of funny. Christ. What have I done? I’ve thrown away my one chance at happiness. I’m also broke. Do you think his parents would let me move in with them? A girl’s gotta try.