Friday, July 14, 2006


So I'm done with them for awhile. After Ken I decided not to date for at least half a year. Then I crushed on Devin when that time was up, but Devin wasn't into me. Post Devin I think it was Phil. He mislead me, and dumped me before we actually started dating. It was super weird, as was/is he. Then there were the cute Red Cross boys. One on each trip. And during the semester, Pretty Andy, who was totally fucked up and nothing happened with, but I some how thought it was promising. That's basically a year and a half worth of crushing, bringing us up to Marc. And I have felt so vulnerable, confused, obsessive, distrusting, anxiety ridden, and grossly insecure, that I can see (with the help of Jenn) that it's just not fucking time for me. I fall too hard, too fucking fast. Splat!

Because I almost didn't survive the Ken break up, I'm much more leery. I don't want to be alone, and I've tried to continue believing that love is possible. I would often say, "I would date me." But I don't think any of that matters. I have plenty to bring to the table and I deserve love. But I concluded at some point that I'm cursed. That karmic-ly I am paying a debt or learning a lesson from another life. It's kind of the only thing that made sense to me. But I don't really want to believe that either. For now, I just know that I handled this Marc situation so fucking lame, that I need to sit on the bench for awhile. Get some balance. I so naively blanket out my number with a friendly smile and lavish hugs, but I need to say, "No thanks." Not that they are breaking down the door, cause they aren't.

Anyway, I ran into a former classmate today, who reminds me of Ken. He talked to me for awhile, and it was fantastic. He's in a relationship, so talking with him was great; no pretenses. He reminds me just how AMAZING some men are, and how I should hold out for one of them. My fears are numerous, but mostly that his kind are all taken. But that is of no concern at this point. However, extracting my heart from my ass is.

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