Ok… enough wallowing already. It’s pathetic and I pride myself on being a strong, confident woman. There’s no glory in looking sad and tired… and the last thing I want him to feel, is sorry for me. I have a lot to be proud of, so it’s time to turn the page and breathe through the heartache.
I’m throwing verbal temper tantrums and I’m packing around an outrageous set of new 36 G’s that aren’t even a week old. For hell’s sake, it’s time I snapped out of it. My poor ex is here visiting this week and has been a superdad, but he has the worst time being in the room with my new purchase. He’s an honorable, respectable married man, but he’s human and they’re hard to ignore. I need to appreciate it for the compliment it is, because I’ve been feeling awfully bad for myself on the heels of rapid rejection.
I hate the power my heart has over me and I hate that I want him as much as I do. I hate how bad I feel because of him and I accept the defeat of it all, but my heart is still reeling. I cannot believe he could care so little about hurting me, but hey… my not believing it hasn’t changed a thing, and I’ve been begging him for clarification, so I suppose I should be grateful?
The bottom line is, I don’t ever want to know what it is to fuck someone on Monday and be out meeting someone else later that week. I don’t ever want to have that little respect for myself or the person I’m intimate with. I fell in love with him. I always do and I won’t ever apologize for it. When you’re the one I adore, you feel it in every part of your life. I don’t do anything half-assed and I certainly deserve the same or a modicum of respect and consideration.
If he was interested in meeting someone else, I don’t want him. No amount of chemistry makes that attractive and I quit men who made me feel bad about myself a long time ago.
Good sex messes with your head and great sex usually breaks your heart. This comes as no surprise, as disappointed and whiny as I’ve been.
He’s incredible. That’s why I’m so miserable. He’s also a dick. I’m always amazed at how they just seem to name themselves. I should have paid more attention to when he went from being the Holy Grail to Mr. Incredicock.
I’ve donated my rose colored glasses to charity and have unpacked the habits that heal me in the best ways. My knitting. My books. My brilliant Not-so-little-Red. My sweet little Dumpling. Bubbles with Miss Fancy. Shenanigans on Friday night with Miss Lovely.
I go all in because I don’t know any other way. I would honestly be bored by less passion and someday, somewhere, he’s going to deserve it.
Just not today.