Fancy Meeting You Here

It’s always on the days where there’s so much to do that I roll over an extra time in my bed and wake up running, trying to catch up.

I just can’t help but think that my schedule would be so much freer if I weren’t with the boy. I know he feels the same way. I’d say that means that we should talk about it, but somehow I don’t think that’s going to go well.

I clicked away, tempted to go write one of the many very necessary emails, but I know better than that these days – any correspondence before a full cup of coffee is usually poorly done, and should only be done in cases of extreme emergencies. Instead I got up and walked around, tying to imagine how both my ex and I are supposed to sign this single document, when electronic signatures are no longer accepted, and only he has some of the information, and only I have other pieces, and I know he’s in town tonight but I already invited the boy out to join me on the outdoor dining terrace of a restaurant that my broke ex could literally only ever eat from the trashcan of.

Humans manufacture their own coincidences. It is no coincidence, in fact, that the boy looks so much like my ex that people who haven’t seen any of us in a while might confuse one for the other.

I had dreams last night, my most recent ex was in them… I’ve been thinking of him a lot lately, I do have to write him an email too. Just a closure thing, I was told it was a good thing to do, even though no one would ever do such a good thing to me. It’s up to me to be the better person, as always.

Be the porn you wish to see on the internet.

gandi.net

What a coincidence it would be if I expressed my dismay at required physical signatures, and had to meet my ex tonight. Outside, at a restaurant, I can meet him at the fence. I’m sure he’ll show up dirty, with ripped clothes – he dresses like a fucking slob in ways that must indicate an underlying mental condition – and I’ll graciously stand up from my glass table and full glass of wine, remove a folder from my purse, furnish a pen, and have the entire town (it’s a hilltop restaurant) watch me free myself from that ragged ass street urchin.

Everything I recall about him is disgusting, now that I have no need to reframe it. I think I’m finally done missing him.

I had several thoughts along similar lines about my most recent ex – I’m not vilifying him, but to be honest it was never going to work, except for that huge dick.

I do really have to thank him for an excellent rebound experience. I always thought rebounds were stupid, but I guess once again I’m the last to recognize that trivialities such as these are essential to the human experience.

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