Were I not a wimp, I would take a trip somewhere. Even though I don't have any money, even though I don't have any place in particuliar to go, even though it's not necessarily practical. Just for kicks.

I'd have money because I'd have a job that pays me because I'd have quit the one that I hate. (I'd keep the one that I like, which also does not pay me. Their not paying me is ok with me in my book because they're a publishing company and I'm an English major and we don't really expect to make money anyway.) But oh, the other job. I'd waltz into my boss' office one day, smile and tell her I don't quite think it's working out, and honestly, I really need to do something else more productive. I'd shoot off a snippy email to the impossible people they've had me dealing with, tell them I'm sorry, but not really. And then I'd go out the door and never come back.

I'd flirt with strangers on the T instead of just watching their reflection out of the corner of my eye. I'd ask for phone numbers, actually call them. I'd do something more than whistfully sigh and remind myself that in London, the world is mine (although, of course, it would/will be, were/when I am not a wimp).

I would IM him one night, out of the blue. I wouldn't even bother explaining some weird story about why — I'd just do it. Perferably with a bit of alcohol in me, just to make me click send. But it wouldn't be a sort of desperate thing, just a hey-I-thought-I'd clarify-this-for-me sort of thing. 'Cause I'm just wondering, y'know?

I'd tell my father what I really think of him, once again, just for good measure. And this time, I'd get out all the parts that actually matter (because he's apparently decided our relationship does not). The parts about me, the part about how I feel uncomfortable to be in predominatly male environment because you really can't trust those fuckers, the part about how quick one-liners about how much men suck just roll off my tongue and I mostly believe what I say, the part about how I don't think hours of therapy are really going to accomplish much to fix things. It's not that I'm crazy, afterall. They really do suck.

I'd say something to my boss, just to remind him that although he cannot see my cube from his spacious corner office, I do, in fact, exist.

That is, of course, were I not a wimp.