Well, that didn’t work out.
It looked good on paper, but ultimately it will not ever be the right time.
There’s a lot going through my mind at the moment. I don’t quite know what I’m going to do. Other than not run.
I just can’t help thinking that it’s not fair that I seem to be destined to always get my heart broken.
I don’t hate anyone. I’m not even really pissed off anymore. I’m only tired. These things always make me tired. Tired generally, and tired of…well, I guess I’m just tired of being hurt, and I never know what I’ve done in the Big Book of The Universe to deserve it. It does really feel like something’s out to get me sometimes. Like, damn, what must I have done in a past life?
Yeah, I should probably stop dating for…well, ever. It’s never going to work.
Please, no flaming. Not of me, not of him. No hostility and no blame, no yelling at anyone, please. I don’t want to deal with it, and neither of us deserves it. This one is an entirely different situation, I can’t even begin to tell you how and why.
I don’t even want to talk about it, not here, not at home, not anywhere. I’m turning off comments because I simply don’t care to discuss it. I won’t answer your questions if you ask. Don’t e-mail, don’t call, don’t ask me about it….just don’t.
I’m just not ready to discuss it other than to say that this time I did see it coming but hoped it could be worked through, it couldn’t, and it’s not anything I did or didn’t do. I went into this knowing that this was the most likely of two outcomes, because I knew the timing was bad. Believe me, I’ve got entire journals, paper and otherwise, dedicated to my doubts and fears.
And frankly, I knew this morning that something was going to happen – just felt something different in the goodbye. Even though the catalyst for this hadn’t even occurred yet, I just felt something like sadness and regret, so all day I’ve sort of been bracing myself for what did, in fact, ultimately come to pass.
I just…you know. Pesky hope.
If I seem a little short and irritable over the next few days or weeks, cut me some slack, please. It’s kind of rough, being broken up with twice in less than 12 months.
