Saturday night's alright for fighting...

Another Saturday night, another fight.

It's getting to be a regular occurrence...

Man one: my boyfriend, the present: Clean-cut handsome, tall, kind, gentle, steady, pragmatic, funny (in a bit of a naive way), all round good guy. He's a complete scientist and heart to hearts generally involve him assessing my words, then presenting a diagnosis; he is a physician both professionally and personally. We go to bed at 10, listen to radio four every night until 11 o'clock, and then we go to sleep. He works hard and I love him, and I am the most successful I have ever been through his influence but... There is a huge BUT...

Man two: my ex-boyfriend, the past: Scruffy, sexily, ruggedly handsome, tall, selfish, charismatic, unreliable, passionate, funny (in a fucking-hell-you're-a-sexy-bastard way), all round bad news boyfriend. I traveled with him during my early twenties. We went everywhere, never had any money, and he had the single philosophy of pushing everything to the limit, attempting to experience everything: both positive and negative. We would talk until dawn even after 5 years together. I left him because my life remained in a perpetual moment with him. I needed to move on and reflect on my experiences, whilst he slowly destroyed himself by never gaining from all he did. I've never met anybody like him; he lived his dreams, but he paid the price... I never got over leaving him.

Man three: my flatmate, the future (?): Short, (prematurely) bald, muscly arms, the biggest, palest blue eyes I have ever seen. My other flatmate, who needless to say prides herself on her honesty, once said to my bf: if there was ever a man who was made for me, then it was flatmate. It's true. It's not anything that I can put my finger on... He's not handsome (really), a penniless post graduate student (like me). We sit mainly in comfortable silence or watch the TV, quietly sharing a bottle of wine, but there are times when I notice him looking at me or looking at the same thing I am, and have the over-whelming feeling that he is thinking the same. After a year living together I barely know him, yet I feel as if he knows me better than I know myself. At night when I lie in bed with my boyfriend, pretending to be asleep, I hear him playing the guitar in the room below mine...

I am insane. This is ridiculous. An infatuation. It's stupid, ridiculous. The product of reading too many French novels... I am 26, but am behaving like a schoolgirl...

I flit between, creating pathetic arguments with my boyfriend and feeling ludicrously guilty, then over compensating. Needless to say this behaviour only makes my boyfriend adore me more, as I quietly hate myself.