I Hereby Swear off Women for a Long Time

Rough day. I’d VBlog about it, but I don’t have the mental fortitude to line my thoughts up in front of a camera. She’s moving out, in process. I get back from work, exhausted, and she wanted me to go over to her new apt to hang out.

She continues to confuse me. Most nights we aren’t talking to each other. Then, half moved, she wants me to go over and see her.

I mean, I get it. She can let loose the tension of sleeping on a couch for a month, she has her own space, she can now unwind, and invite me into her space with the control she’s been missing for a long time. I get it.

I had planned a long night with stupid TV, trying not to look at all the stuff that’s now missing, trying not to get upset about a palaced, perfect, hard-won life lost with what feels like a flick of the wrist. (Most of all trying to let her enjoy herself. But no. She isn’t happy. No matter what she does, where she is, who she’s with, she isn’t happy. That’s how we got here in the first place.)

But I get it. I’d like to see it. I feel no animosity toward her. She’s good people. She’d make a good wolf in a wolf pack. I need more wolves in my wolf pack. But can I get one day of making my own decisions without being told I’m now "untrustworthy, in general" because I don’t want to rush over to her place when she beckons? Just because I get it doesn’t mean anything concerning myself.

I half expected her to show up over here, with her friend, just to grab more stuff and say hi. I never expected her to want me over at her place.

Strange, I guess. I’m trying to figure out how seeing her would be, in any way, my idea. But it isn’t. I’m in a scary place, mentally, and it projects out to the walls and the rooms and the spaces we used to share. And being scared of being alone is something I’ve never dealt with. Never stared it down. Never explored the positives. I haven’t been single, truly single, and alone, my whole life. It’s terrifying, on some level.

On another, I’m breathing a sigh of relief. I’m staring wide-eyed at the possibilities. I can finally be a man-whore. I can do two chicks in the same night and not break any rules. I can get trashed and puke in the bushes and not worry about hurting someone’s trust or feelings.

Just kidding. I’ve never been that guy. I’ll never be that guy.

I’m really, really clean when I’m alone. Not just hygienically, but apartment-wise. I’ve already started cleaning.

I’d talk about my writing plans, my ideas, my motivations, my foci. Unfortunately, I have six books up (either in-progress or proofreading), and I have no interest or motivation to do anything with any of them. It’s really sad.

Plus, due to stress, my face is swelling up (stress and eating that damned pizza two nights ago. And the fast food). At least I’m not eating candy and other junk foods. At least I’m drinking a lot of water. And diet soda (which hurts me ten times as much on the writing front).

I’m turning over an October leaf (PUN INTENDED): No more diet soda. No more stupid food (if I can help it). Starting… Thursday. I have no time tonight to get food for tomorrow’s work, and SOMEONE decided to use my lunchbox as… rock storage. For the move. Blah.

If you look at the bags under my eyes, you will see that I’m fighting off a sickness, too. I don’t know where it came from, where it’s going to, but I’m congested and a little under the weather. I’m sure that helps with the red cheeks and the swelling. Whatever.