Sleepless in Seattle. Without the Seattle.

It is 1:18 a.m. Boy Behind the Wall has cycled through the world's most intriguing playlist, and now his girlfriend is singing along to something befitting the '90s R&B scene.

I don't know if I should laugh that he was clapping along to "Redneck Woman" or cry over his pathetic rapping abilities. There was a brief shining moment of Amy Grant. An entire Weezer song. An homage to Lauren Hill.....

It will only be a matter of time before the music turns to awkward moaning and I start fantasizing about removing my eardrums with a spoon.

I. Want. Sleep.

Freelancing Friday Vs. BBTW

I was a writer yesterday. Sure, I've been a writer for a while (the Film Fest introductions happily confirmed this for me), but yesterday I was writing, at home, on a weekday, making money from the written word. And what a beautiful day it was.

I probably have a lot to learn when it comes to productivity, time-management and discipline. I did make myself shower and wear non-pajamas, though. That was a start. And I set mini-goals, most of which were reached. I even made about $10 more than if I were subtitling. So this writing thing might actually be worth it. Once the laptop is part of my life (the Macbook is coming, I promise), I may have to write in coffee shops and libraries instead of in my little abode. Because there's that overwhelming urge to get up and do laundry in the middle of the day. Or watch television. Or do laps in front of the fridge....

It's also hard to distinguish between the workday and the post-workday. How do I walk away and not continue staring at my computer, wasting hours reading blogs and Twittering? And then there are the freelancing issues like invoicing, receipt-collecting and budgeting. Yes, I can write off part of my Internet bill. And the purchase of bridal magazines. The thought of getting organized financially is a little overwhelming.

My writing day did eventually come to an end, and after an evening of laundry and bathtub-scrubbing, I tried to go to bed. But BBTW (Boy Behind the Wall) decided to have a party. At midnight. One that included the blaring of techno music and the shouting of the odd profane phrase. The walls are thin here, and the head of my bed rests against his wall. So I know the details of his life (as I'm sure he knows mine) via auditory experience. Let's just say I am very aware of when he and his girlfriend are getting along marvelously.

I couldn't sleep. I wasn't in the mood to be angry at him either. I briefly considered throwing on a cute dress and crashing his shindig. But I am not a party-crasher. At all. Nor do I want to participate in something that too closely resembles fraternity living.

Instead, I lit a candle, turned on some Baroque music, and read the first twelve chapters of Pride and Prejudice by lamplight.

Ahh, how I heart Mr. Darcy.

I wonder if BBTW knows that his partying brought out the content old lady in me. Or that his adventures provide the writer next door with plenty of amusing material.

Boy Meets Girl: A Character Study

I don't know where to begin. Oh, I know. Here. Seriously, you're going to need a recap. Because my life is one fantastic soap opera. And it's all my fault.

As I type this, I'm not sure how I feel about technology. About social networking. About the instant and all-too-easy access I have to strangers. Because when my interest in piqued, I may find them. And then find myself in some tangled web of awkwardness that has me breaking up with someone I don't even know.

We went for non-coffee coffee. (We met at a coffee place where we skipped the caffeinated options). Conversation came easy. Perhaps too easy. I caught myself thinking, "Wait a minute. There's no way I'm actually this charming." But maybe I was. I'm learning. An hour later, as I headed home, I knew that something was off. That even just a non-coffee coffee was inconsistent with who I am. And was an awkward nonnegotiable rejection waiting to happen.

It's fun stepping outside of the comfort zone, embarking on a little adventure that involves flattery and intrigue. But when I acknowledged that my initiative in the situation was out of character, a loud voice echoed in my swirly-whirly head, "It's called character for a reason."

When my heart is firmly in one place, ignoring it for a moment or two is pointless. Eventually it will rear its head. Yes, my heart has a head. Which is confusing, considering my heart and real head are often at odds....

So I chose to be the jerk rather than the liar.

I had nothing to offer. I had no business chatting up a much-older stranger I saw-but-didn't-meet in a bar. I had no intentions beyond a hello, and there I was, suddenly being pursued by someone who had every reason to expect otherwise.

So I apologized and let him go.

He was gracious, subtly hurt, cut me free, and we reverted to stranger status. A de-friending on Facebook was included. Which I find oddly amusing. I'm not sure why. I'll probably need therapy one day.

I will slowly learn my lessons the hard way, waiting for that miraculous two-way street where affection is reciprocated and awkwardness is at a minimum. Or at least forgiven. And where missteps and gaffes aren't significant enough to get in the way of the real adventure.

Ah, girls are confusing. To every guy I've ever known, I apologize for my contribution to the mixed signals and inconsistencies that my sex has thrown at you. For the sudden shyness, the over-thinking, the cynicism, the coyness....

I am tired of the game. I always lose.
Men, if you stop playing, so will I.

Werewolf Behind the Wall

It is almost 1 a.m. I am not asleep.

The howling. It. Won't. Stop.

The Boy Behind the Wall is a werewolf. Mystery solved.