Thursday, August 16, 2012

Always something there to remind me....

I don't know how I let my illusions, my hopes, my feelings get away from me and let me think that something exists where it doesn't. 

How it lets me think that I'm dateable.  That there is someone out there for me.  Because, clearly, there isn't.  Not anyone, at least, that I also want to date.  Maybe I'm not skinny enough.  Maybe I'm too bitchy.  Maybe I'm too career orientated.  Maybe I'm too much. 

Whatever it is, I'm so glad I get to be reminded of it all the time.  The second, the very moment, that I start to think that someone might like me, you know like me for dating, for a relationship, to fill the other side of this queen bed (with, I might add, kick ass smooth as a baby's bottom sheets), to be there to give a shit.  To wipe the languishing tangle of hair out of my eyes.  To think of me.  I'm reminded. 

There's two kinds of men.  The ones who want to date me (see:  empty area over there), and those who just want to fuck me.  The second ones are so easy to find; the first are non-existent.

The guy I'm sorta not really dating, didn't care enough to notice that it had been a year we've been hanging out.  Sure, we aren't serious, and I didn't expect a serious commotion about it.  But we did notice the 6 month mark.  Nothing huge, but you know a nod.  Noticing it, in some way, to say hey, I appreciate you, it's been a fun year, I care, I give a shit, would have been nice.  He forgot, he doesn't seem to think it is a big deal.  Maybe he should try blowing himself, and see if that's a big deal.  I hear that rib removal surgery is a real bitch.  Or how about spend a few weeks without me, maybe he will miss me then.

Or the guy who is that secret affair, the one with the baby and babymama.  We say we care about each other, that we are friends.  We share secrets and trust each other with information that you only share with someone super close.  He leaves me little notes sometimes, little hellos.  We text, we chat, we fall asleep together cuddling in bed.  He suggests hanging out sometime, like watching a movie.  And so, my heart even though it doesn't mean to, likes him a little.  And it starts to flutter a little, and get happy when I talk to him.  And then, he wants to come over for some fun, and I explain I'm just ending my you know, girl stuff, but that he could come over and hang out if he wants anyway.

And he declines.

And then I remember just who I am to him.  Or, rather, what I am to him.

and it just hurts.  

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