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You bring up a good point. Maybe I am agitated. Maybe I am impatient. Sue me. I feel the sass boiling and surging through my veins. My gut reaction is a haughty one. I feel like a grumbling elementary school girl. So, okay, sorry.

It’s lonely in limbo. So I invite you to be restless and unsettled and unkept with me.

 

I’m looking up from the bottom of a well. I can see a shadow of a figure far above. You. You can’t hear me directly. You only hear the echoes of my voice, secondhand, hearing my distortions but not my real self.

I was sent a great way to frame how to view the menz and have to share it with the world.

So-and-so gave my friend “a good way to think about and classify guys and help decide if they are worth our time.  A man should have the “Three Ss” for us to be interested – he’s got to be stable, sexy and smart.  I love it!  It’s so easy to remember and apply.”

What my friend and I both quickly saw is that the guys we’ve been dating might have one or two of the S’s but not all three. This is really cool.

If you call

you’re just like him

If you don’t call

you’re just like him

If you call but not in a timely manner

you’re just like him

If you’re tall

you’re just like him

If you have a decent sense of humor

you’re just like him

If you are a permanent bachelor

you’re just like him

If you say you love the way I feel in your arms

you’re just like him

If you’re looking for someone to kill time with

you’re just like him

If you will never have affection for me

you’re just like him

If you give mixed signals

you’re just like him

If you’re selfish

you’re just like him

Even if your name is different

you’re just like him

Even if they say you’re not

you’re just like him

Even if I try to give you a chance

you’re just like him

 

 

the sweetness of you

the moistness

the “yes” I feel in my veins, soul when I take a bite of you

the hominess

my grandmother

my mother

instant comfort

 

*made by poeticgrin

 

I think my issue with men may be that I examine the periphery too much and don’t focus on the core of the person. You want to know why I like this one guy? 1) He’s tall, and 2) He uses Bookman Old Style as his email font of choice. I think he probably cuts and pastes from a word document into email. I love this font, and I am appreciative of others who enjoy it. Especially since no one uses it much these days. I have no idea what this guy does, in what way(s) he might dismember me, or what his personality is like outside of who he creates online. Still, height and font are the ways to my heart, apparently, and I could get behind a tall jerk any day.

 

 

 

I hid him from you because I knew you’d see right through him…and me.

Poeticgrin, there was no way you’d accept a suiter who was of X political affiliation and who once said, “Man, I don’t know, I think Bush got a raw deal.” Such mindlessness, I was ashamed for you to see either of us.

J, I knew you’d know he didn’t value me the way you thought I should be valued. I knew you’d demand that I demand more from the guy I was seeing because you love me like a sister and sometimes more than I love myself.

I was thinking last night. Whenever you’re trying to assimilate an event or a relationship into your history, you have to basically write out the story of it/you so that it reads like a history book. I feel as though I’m at the point that I am really turning the page on him, but I have to figure out his reference. Even to myself, I don’t feel as though I can call him my “ex-boyfriend.” Using the word “boyfriend” would be taking liberties with the truth, even if it’s prefaced by “ex.” (And a part of me feels deprived that, yet again, he has denied me his “boyfriend” status.) So the title is tripping me up a bit. He’s my ex-what? He’s my refused-to-be-my-boyfriend-man? He’s my ex-lover? My ex-nothing-relationship?

 

Tonsil update: Poeticgrin felt of my neck the other day, felt the protrusion that is my right tonsil, looked at me, horrified, and said, “What IS that?”

My muscles aren’t just tired, my bones are tired. A twelve-hour workday will do that. I’m being evaluated by an outside evaluator. Aren’t they always outside? He doesn’t seem to be malignant. 

I am going to bed in 42 minutes. Whether certain people with English monikers call or not. I will not give another man an advantage over me again. Or least not today.

Echoes

off the walls

off brick

and cinder block

gunshots, the cell closing

six lives gone

lost

plus the children

plus the parents

plus the ones who cared

plus the ones who were only maimed

plus all those who didn’t know and never will

SOB with me

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