In case of emergency, break glass

I’m up early today.

I’m trying to make writing here my morning routine. I’m remembering what my mornings used to look like, before medical leave gave me time to actually start this site.

I used to get up, make coffee, and check my email. Hopefully I’d get through the urgent stuff before the caffeine started kicking in, in which case I’d start wandering and taking care of the nuisance stuff around my apartment until the caffeine edge wore off. No phone calls would be made until the second cup of coffee, which I usually could get to, if not always through, before the close of business. It’s weird how habits shape our life, as I realize that a good amount of my personal business decisions were made because of my schedule. I picked my bank because they’re open late, frequent the stores with the longest hours… and of course, the ominously avoided job I keep not talking about was picked because of it’s also unusual hours.

Those urethral sounds are being boiled right now, btw.

Now, I haven’t checked my email in almost a month. Not my work email, anyway. I know I’m going to go back soon. I have to find a way to keep some elements of this, and integrate some elements of that, into my morning routine. Maybe I’ll write here for the first cup of coffee, and then check emails on the second. Knowing how antsy I get on the second cup, and the time sensitive nature of some things, I don’t know if that’s going to work… but something has to, so I’ll keep playing around until I find it or something close.

I’m up early today.

My guilt at leaving my friends led me to want to pay it forward, and this caused me to commit to helping someone who is in a really rough way today. It felt good at the time, but immediately after it felt weird when I realized who I was directing my efforts to…

See life is a funny thing.

My awesome friend, who has saved me so many times, and who I am afraid that I will never see again.

And right on time, this person bailed on me (which I think is an *exceptionally* bad idea, but this person constantly has “bad luck” which of course is the result of bad ideas), right as I was typing the above paragraph, right after I brewed my coffee, and took the opportunity to sterilize my sounds, and use the already boiling big pot of water to perfectly softboil (its my thing) some eggs and avocado toast (anyone who can’t cut an avocado properly should never handle a knife, or be trusted to have hands for that matter) and make it through just enough of the aforementioned coffee that I can’t go back to sleep. 4 minutes before I was supposed to be out the door for them. What an asshole… but I knew that already.

Sometimes the trash takes itself out.

Me

I don’t want to talk to much about the past because there’s no point in that, but what the fuck how did I fall for this again? I know exactly how, actually. My feelings were raw yesterday and there was a hole I needed to fill, and I did so inappropriately. It was looked like a serendipitous (I just realized my mother, who constantly makes terrible decisions, also uses that word a lot) opportunity, but a bad decision. This is the story of my life, and honestly the essential summary of every relationship that I have ever had.

(I guess I can keep writing now, since I now have a full sunshiny day in front of me)

This explains my immediate next move – text one of the random dudes I’m currently dating. Not the one I really like, he’s probably sleeping and I don’t want to fuck with him, but the one that gets up early. And knowing me, probably the one I’m going to have my next relationship with, so I’m not fucking up a good thing/committing to the guy I really like.

Oh, and that boyfriend I kind of have is on his way back here at some point. He reminds me of the bitch who just bailed on me, but I don’t know how much of that is transference from me, the person who is assessing both of these assholes. You can’t give random stuff to people and expect them to value it as deeply as what they were actually asking for. You give people what they need, not what you decide they need. There’s a lesson in that for me too, I guess. Anyway, my boyfriend is shallow and inconsistent, and I think he expects me to be too. He’s been scared the entire time that I would break his heart, but for fuck’s sake he never even gave me his heart so how on earth would I do that?

He’s only just now trying, I can hear it in his voice, because he realizes that I’m there in more than just the physical sense. After 3 years. And honestly, it’s right when I’m at the edge of my patience and ready to walk away with someone else. 3 years, almost 4. Can anyone really blame me, really? I put up with a few months shy of 4 years straight of small talk, smokeshow gifts, meaningless (but super fun) sex to the point where I think I have irrevocable carpal tunnel from stroking dick, always sleeping on the same side of the bed, a stiff neck from all that fake emotional “cuddling” and basically 3 years out of doing anything meaningful with my personal life because shallow people love nothing more than wasting as much of your time as possible, which is why I usually get *paid* to waste time <=== there, I finally said it. That is, in a nutshell my job and why I hate it. I get paid to *waste my time*. Actively, essentially and thoroughly. And I have wasted my entire life on it.

And he will cry and say I broke his heart. 4 years of trying to build a life with someone who’s too scared and/or lazy to do a damn thing but hides it under a thick syrupy layer of enforced casualty. He will cry and say that I broke his heart, he tried so hard, he spent all of his money on me, he spent all of his time on me, he was always nice to me, he’s always the nice guy and nice guys finish last. It’s true, and all of his friends and probably a few of mine will commiserate with him and wonder how a bitch like me could ever leave a “nice guy” (I can not find the tm mark in the special characters here, I need it so badly) like him. How many fucking times has he told me that he always gets left, and doesn’t know why. I want to tell him why, but he won’t care, I think he’d rather just not know. So that he can keep saying he doesn’t know. And crying because he doesn’t know. And feeling bad because he doesn’t know how bad he makes other people feel. And if he doesn’t know he doesn’t have to do a damn thing about it, which is why he never wants to know. I could say this directly to him, I have, and he will still not know.

Because he’s shallower than glass. Glass breaks easily. I will break his heart. It’s true. Who the fuck cares about my heart? Can’t even hear that question over your sobs, can you asshole?

I have stayed with him out of guilt. And, for great sex. I never thought I’d be the kind of person who would walk away from sex that good… but here we are.

I had put down a deadline to talk about things with him, I told him about it, and he got angry with me, one of the rare times he ever has, and one of the exceedingly rare times we’ve ever talked about anything the even had a sliver of potential to be anything more than absolutely vapidly meaningless. I really, really *really* should have ended it right there. Obviously. I’ve thought that every single time things get anything beyond astoundingly superficial with him.

I could leave this open and waiting for him to read, and he would still not get a fucking thing. He told me that one of his girlfriends did that to him once (of course he actually said that he “saw his name in some of her writing and started reading it automatically and only then realized that it was her journal” like I’m too young to have ever heard bullshit before. Ok Daddy, I’ll just wait here for that fucking pony you said you’d bring me). And then he “tried to work through it” aka didn’t have the balls to leave and ruin his perfect track record of being the one left, not the one leaving.

But no, it’s his heart that’s broken. Mine is too, but at least I can take full fucking accountability for myself, and have enough awareness of myself, to admit to myself and anyone who cares that yes, I broke it myself.

And did a damn fine job of it, too.

I’m going back to bed.

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