Believe it or not, I owe you not one, but TWO Rate-A-Dates! Yeah, this is probably not the right thing to do while nursing a heartache, but it is helping with the weirdness. As Bulldog says, hair of the dog.
Still haven’t met Bulldog, though. He continues to send me the most clever, sometimes adorable, sometimes super-steamy texts and I continue to let him. I am playing along at this point. As many have told me, I’m going to do this until it doesn’t work anymore, then he gets an ultimatum. I don’t know that I want to give him one soon…I just know that I can’t do this forever, and it may just fizzle out. That would be fine too. There’s a reason for this, I know, and I’m letting it be.
Work is so fucking busy and I’m in meetings all day, every day. This sucks because I can’t really get much done and end up having to stay late just trying to catch up after a full day of non-stop meetings. It’s gotten to where I have to schedule my pee breaks and put them on the calendar! I am only able to write this because I scheduled at meeting with myself. I will tap it out quickly and then get ready for my 9am meeting: reporting my sales for the last three years. Yeah, business is bad so we are all in CYA mode, and I have to spend my time tracking stuff that happened years before I even got here. Waste of fucking time. I’m supposed to be trying to plan for the future, and yeah, I know that looking back can provide clues to what’s happened, but damn. Every week is a new 20-page power point presentation I need to put together. This sucks.
Haven’t heard a peep from the old company since my interview two weeks ago. This is a bummer. I was really hoping I’d at least hear something…
And I miss him. I’ve missed him a lot more since I’ve written about feeling strange about feeling OK with it all. It’s been 40 days since we last spoke. That’s so weird. I have zero clue of his whereabouts, what he’s up to, how his son is, or who he’s with. I guess that’s a good thing, but I have to say that there are days lately when I’ve had the longest, worst days at work and I wanted so desperately to call him and tell him all about it. Because you know what he would do? He’d say, “Come over and let me take care of you. Let me pour you a glass of champagne and fix you dinner and then love your blues away. Let me hold you all night long.”
And he would do it. He would do it…I’d go over and he would pour the most exquisite love all over me. He’d treat me like a princess and hold me so lovingly. All. Night. Long. He would tuck me in bed and do this thing that we’d call the Super Tuck. It was my most favorite thing in the world. His bed was my most favorite place in the world.
I miss him so much.
But I must, must, must remember what a motherfucker he is. I must remember that he would search out other women the second my back was turned. I must remember that he probably plotted our breakup for a few months, making sure to find someone to replace me (I believe she was already securely in place by the time he ended it).
I must move on because he is gone. He is not coming back. And even if he did, I have to remember that I can’t take him back because of all of that.
OK. Better get to work now. Busy, busy, long, busy day ahead.
Love and precious tucks-in-bed,
GS
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