So…
I probably have attention deficit disorder, because my brain jumps around and sometimes the only way to calm it is to put the words on the page and somehow, that sorts it all out.
My therapist of past told me to write in a journal, and then I read some study about how people that put pen to paper were emotionally healthier and happier. I highly doubt that philosophy applies in my case, but it does help relieve at least a tad bit of my mental suffering.
I’m torn between getting my brains fucked out or sitting in the bar with safe friends and getting as drunk off my ample ass this weekend.
I absolutely CAN call one of two people and get my brains fucked out, but only ONE will buy me dinner. Ain’t that a bitch?
Now, how would I feel about this afterwards?
Well, one is my pot dealer. We went to high school together and he regularly comes to visit me at work, pours his heart out about his dating woes, and always buys me either dinner or a drink. On my birthday, he bought me an unlimited amount of alcohol and made me a marijuana brownie filled with hash oil.
We have never been physical, but the chemistry is there. He’s a manwhore, and had over 100 women the first year post divorce. One hundred women. SO…that probably won’t happen, as I’m completely crazy about my sexual health.
Left swipe that.
The other is a big strapping farmer of a guy. He’s a bit too forward and appears to me to be the type of lover that might slam you up against the headboard a time or two. Or three. Or until you have permanent brain damage.
Anyways, he’s not the smartest guy I know, and he would probably hang around my porch like a stray dog waiting for the rest of my leftover hamburger.
Ix-nay on the armer-fay.
My heart is broken and my trust is shattered, and I probably shouldn’t make any rash decisions until I clear my head and get a hold of my emotions. Especially rash decisions like fucking someone from the small town I work in just to prove to myself that I am still sexy and desirable.
It won’t make either of them love me, and I certainly don’t want either one of them for a long term relationship…as if I am even ready or able to have one of those. Nope, fucking those guys does not appeal to me because I do not want sex without love. Not really. Neither does the fox, and he has already begun the process of searching. The fact that he wouldn’t agree right away to my query of whether or not he will stop taking applications was somewhat unsettling. He also had to be coerced into telling me what I wanted to hear, which is not a promising sign that he will halt his hunt.
I’m scared to be without the Fox. I’m scared to be alone. I’m scared to have nobody to touch my ass or whisper in my ear the way he does. I kissed him today, passionately, and if I coulda fucked him right there, it probably would have been the best sex I have had in a couple years. But, I don’t know if he felt the same way, or if he was anxious to get back to the affair or the wife.
With all my heart, I wanted to rip my clothes off and prove to him that I was as sexy as ever, and still had all my wits about me. I wanted to prove to him that I could get half naked and suck him into my loving web all over again, like nobody else can or ever will. I was freaking out because it appeared he has resigned himself to giving it to me straight. He is no longer catering to the fantasy I had for us, and he said so. He is no longer talking about the day we can date openly and visit the cottage he will share after a divorce. Somewhere along the line, he took ME out of his future, a future he alluded to and then spoke openly of just a year earlier.
Something made that change.
What?
He is no longer faithful and needs more than me. He said so. He kept looking at me like he was mourning the loss and just needed closure.
He had to go then, and it’s probably a good thing.
I couldn’t help but think as he was walking away, he was already gone before he even walked IN.
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