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Warning: pathetic girl-talk ahead.
I’m broken again and tired and waiting for a ding from my cell phone to validate my existence. The ding has come daily, but still I wait. This could be the day he doesn’t ding me. I think we can all agree the only thing worse than thinking you’ve lost interest in a man is when the man loses interest in you. I told him I wanted to see him this weekend. His reply: I’m sure we can manage that. This might be the most painful rejection I’ve ever heard.
This was most painful rejection besides that time that guy left the country without telling me or the time that guy told me he had no affection to give me or that time that guy said, “wanna cuddle?” or that time that guy told me he was “laid back,” which translated into his being lazy.
Another one shall bite the dust because there is no other option. I’ve read ahead. The story of us ends. For real. Soon. But not before I make the biggest fool out of myself ever. Or making the biggest fool of myself since all of the above-mentioned rejection menz.
Oh well, fuck it. This is the best part of love.
I wrote this some time ago about the heat of texting I sometimes feel. It’s a love/hate relationship I have with technology, though I can admit underneath it all, it has nothing to do with technology. (Note: I feel as though I might have posted this before but my glance-through revealed nothing…but I didn’t look that carefully. If this is a repeat, apologies.)
Anticipation gives way to relief gives way to wanting more gives way to frustration give way to anger gives way to giving away. I cannot become a slave to the man and technology ever again. I am not sure how to do that, but it’s a necessity. I can’t care. It becomes not about him but validation. It becomes about never getting my fill. If I for once got my fill, got my feel…
I’m three texts in with no response. He says he’s stressed. He says he is flying on Monday and the pressure is on. I believe him. I honestly do. It’s me that ruins it all. Constantly looking and waiting for my cell phone to give me tangible proof that he’s been thinking of me.
I want to hold onto this pleasant feeling. I don’t want it to slip away into the obscurity of insecurity. Does that make sense? Of course it does. If I doubt him, I doubt myself. I worry that I won’t see him again or touch him or kiss him. I won’t ever know the satisfaction of making him sigh or feel good or feel special, and I won’t have that from him. I want to be made to sigh. I want to be made to feel good. I want to be made to feel special. Wanted, care for, safe. It’s too much. Too much to ask.
I’ve told myself, you must wait until you leave work to even look at your cell phone. So that’s 66 minutes from now. On one hand, I’m trying to go for more discipline, to stop looking constantly at my cell. On the other hand, it just makes the disappointment of not receiving a message from him that much more acute. So what can I do? It seems I’m destined to lose….because I really can’t expect him to give me what I want, can I? And then the horribleness of getting a message, hoping/praying it’s from him and then finding it’s from someone else. I’m tired of roller coasters again.
bored
not hurting anybody
scrolling through the numbers in my phone
I saw the name
had forgotten the name
already
was surprised it was there
in my phone
when she no longer is here
on earth
I pressed delete before I could think
too much
time spent thinking
how long will it be before I recover my breath
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
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