I don't know what to do with myself...

The thing is, I'm a bit fed up with people not understanding what I try to say.
It's probably all my fault, I guess I shouldn't be writing things as if it was a page cut off Bridget Jones 3 - with extra dysfunctional syndrome filling! or Ally McBeal's latest episode's script.
'Cos people end up thinking I am joking all the time, while actually I'm not.
So, in the end, it' fairly plausible you think it was somebody pulling your leg or something.
Well, if you happen to read this (you won't, but one never knows), I wasn't pulling your leg. At all.
Truth is I am:
- too funky and shy to walk up to you and tell you how I feel right to your face - that's why I send you email instead;
- scared by the fact you could think I'm either stupid (does it make a difference if I tell you I'm not?) or too young for you (for heaven's sake, you're 13 years older than me, but it's not like I am 12, is it?) or too ugly (I dunno how to defend myself on this, you're probably right.);
- worried you would still think it's all a joke even if I tell you I'm not joking a thousand times.
To cut a long story short, I don't know what to do.

(soundtrack - "I just don't know what to do with myself", written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David, sung by Dusty Springfield. Back off White stripes!!)
absent-mindedly scribbled by Giorgia at 20/09/2003