Digression

I watch SportsCenter and think of you sitting beside me-
long legs stretched out next to my short ones,
skin brushing skin,
your body heat making my blood hum.

I think about glancing over my shoulder at you,
your eyes smiling back at mine,
your strong hand reaching out to brush my crazy hair away from my face.
I turn my head--
I see no one behind foolish tears.

I think back to that first date, the way I wanted to reach across the table and put my hands on either side of your face.
And I did.
Your smile filled my palms, overflowing past my fingertips,
spilling out, down my arms, onto the table,
spreading across to my face.
Your breath on the edge of my hand became the rhythm of my heart.
Sometimes I wonder if it still is.

Time stands still as it breezes by,
leaving me on this couch,
alone with my anger
and disappointment
and that shitty word used to describe your path and your words and that wool pulled over my eyes:
"inaction".

I fall asleep trying to write out the tangle of heartache smothering my words.
I awaken with my chin on my collarbone,
a sore spot in my neck, my pen on the floor, a blank journal page in my lap,
the TV dark.
The clock reads 2:57 am.
Again.

I used to hold my breath when you fell asleep, pushing my ear to your chest,
counting your heartbeats.
I used to believe that the weight of words would carry me into your arms,
and keep me in your life.

I wait to hear your voice again.
I belittle myself for waiting,
            for wishing,
                        for wanting.

I curse my silly heart,
    and my smart mind.
I sleep and drink and read and watch terrible TV on mute,
  but I still know what month it is, how many days have gone by
since I last felt the sincere giddiness of  sure love
when you showed up at my door
with an honest heart and an open smile
and truth.

I avoid babies
and weddings
and our favorite place to get over-served.

I force myself to
forget
every
fucking
day
the
feeling
of
fullness
and
TRUE
LOVE
I
felt.

I remind myself that
the lie wasn't mine,
that the inaction wasn't my decision,
that the
frozen
paused
fear
wasn't about
ME.

It wasn't about me.

The fire within my gut
screams louder than I wish to admit--

Why wasn't it about me? 
Why wasn't I enough?

I will smother all of this,
and finish my book,
and watch the NBA playoffs alone,
and go out with friends,
sipping tequila-- "chilled & dressed"
and plan weekends and vacations and
any dream I have had
except for the one
where
you
and
I
share this life
until we are both wilted and wrinkled,
your warm hand on my thigh,
that sure love passing between
your eyes
and
mine.

If you are looking for my sweet side today, you will need to just go look in my archives. Just go over there ----------->.
I am just DONE. Like, DONE. I'm over the stress, over the bullshit, over the LIVING LIFE ON HOLD.  I'm done putting myself out there.
It's easy to get prettied up and go out. Easy to smile, laugh, chit-chat about meaningless things. (Fairly) easy to allow a man to buy me a drink. (Fairly) easy to do a little bit of flirty touching on his arm. But from that point on, it gets hard. And that's the shit I'm done with. Because it never ends well. It ends one of two ways: either he gets hurt, or I do.
Take this past weekend:

I'm somewhere with a bunch of people I don't know, and a few I have hung out with a couple of times. Apparently it is a known thing with this group that I am single, and these stupid men think it's funny to make it a game. So three men are wanting to buy me drinks. Yes, yes, I know someone is saying "Holy shit! Why are you complaining about that??" to which I respond: BAH. Because honestly, I can't help but have this internal conversation with myself:

"Man #1 is a total player. Hot, but omg, how the hell could I ever trust a man like that??"

"You do not need to trust him, dumbass. Just have fun!"

"Oh, ha. We are talking about ME here. I DO need to trust him. I'm not here just to have drinks and play. Ultimately, I want something long-term. I am NOT the player type. You know this."

"Oh, and Man #2 is f-ing annoying. Not attractive. Why are you so nice? Get some damn balls and stand up for yourself."

"Dude. Shut it. Man #3...."

"Um, no. Just, no. THAT MAN is the heartbreaker.Run."

I exhaust myself.

Anyway, so Man #2 will NOT take no for an answer when I say he does not need to buy me drinks. And he's a smoker, so as the night continues, he's leaning into my face and I just can't handle it. At the end of the night, he's trying to kiss my neck and tells me that if I'm interested I should meet him outside the bar. Um, NO. (I'm getting the chills just typing this. Ick ick ick!!!)

So why the fuck should I bother at all with Man #2? I mean, he probably expects something after buying me drinks, and I'm a nice woman, so I talked to him, but there was NO SPARK there AT ALL for me.

Man #1 dances his ass off, playfully flirts, but I already shut him down last time we were out. I don't want the man who knows he is hot shit, and hits on every gorgeous woman he meets. Would he be fun to play with?? Oh yes, I'm sure of it. The way he moves on the dance floor....mmmm. ANYWAY.

It's Man #3 that had me in tears driving home. Motherfucker. He's the one I want to run to and away from. Haven't known him long, but we seemed to be on the same page about so many things. Went on a few dates. Awesome conversations, drunk and sober. A shit-ton of similar interests. And then he smacks me in the face after 4 dates with a motherfucking text (DUDE) that he isn't ready for anything serious and thinks I'm nice and a great person (Fuck you) and JUST WANTS TO BE FRIENDS. To which I say: BAH.

Because see, that would be totally fine if not for:

- We had the 'serious' conversation. We both allegedly felt the same:Not looking for serious but don't want to play, need a healthy balance; and don't need to waste time on people who really wouldn't be right in the long-run.

-It was HE who asked ME out on the 4 dates. It was HE who made comments about doing things together this summer. It was HE who approached me.

-And lastly, if he really wanted to be friends, the above text would not have been the last text from him. I didn't hear another motherfucking thing. Nada.

And then he's there this weekend. And he says maybe 25 words to me all night. And is within feet of me all night, and says not a word. AND, this is the icing that takes the cake: He lets his friend talk shitty to me. I stood up for myself, but he just watched it go down.

Motherfucker.

So. I'm done. I'm out. I'm over it all. I don't want to put myself out there, put my guard down, get interested, get hurt. 2010 was one of the worst damn years of my life, and it hurt, over and over and over. And in the wee hours of the morning after the shittiest night out in a really long time, I sat in tears, and I will be DAMNED if I'm doing that anymore.

Nope.

And I want to gut-punch myself for even bothering. For even thinking that I'm being rational about this. For thinking that I really can't be that person who plays with no real feelings. I need to become that person. I need to be the woman who can flirt, play, date, etc., without getting emotionally involved. And while I cringe about becoming that person, I think about my emotions being tangled and trampled, and I ache.

I can't ache anymore.

Music Lover Monday-Let the bitter continue

My sentiments exactly.