Life's a bitch (and then you marry one).

My boyfriend's bought me a ring for Christmas. Great, fucking great. It looks like an engagement ring.

There is no rhyme or reason for it. I haven't ever hinted marraige was on the table; in fact I remember saying, "A wedding and a funeral are pretty much the same thing - either way your life's over." Very mature, I know, but that's it: I am not ready for the picket fence dream. I have never lusted after it. The thoughts of having children leaves me with a feeling of mild bewilderment, and awe of people who can be so selfless for the greater good of their offspring.

Oh, I am also utterly in love with my flatmate, who isn't my boyfriend.

Fuck. I feel sick.