And this is why men, insecure men, can’t handle whores. They don’t want to give the woman back to herself at the end of the night. They are sore losers. He can’t have me, and he can’t handle me.
In order for this to be an adequate meditation, I should not have just checked my work email and logged into our communication channels in order to appear active. I do wonder if I’m delivering the right amount of work. IT feels like I’m not doing enough, but that’s the nature of the beast I suppose. The guidelines are vague so that people remain uneasy, fear of falling behind becoming the mot
I remember one time, on a “date” with a very unstable man, who by way of infectious disease, ruined the better part of 3 months for me, when I was describing the overwhelming, all encompassing joy of being able to make my coffee and drink 2 whole cups by myself without anyone interrupting me. He said it sounded like I was recently alone, that this was a new joy.
Last work outing I went to with the boy, there was a very attractive Asian woman, a coworker of his who he addressed familiarly, with her diminutive douchebag looking boyfriend. Seeing him, easily a foot taller than her and her “man”… he was looking at her. And I could tell that he knew, or at least he thought he knew, that he could have her if he wanted her, if he hadn’t had her already.
I clicked away because I’m so scared that I won’t be able to depend (I originally put in defend) on the people that I need to, I had to see if there was some way that I could discreetly do it without them.
Don’t let Perfect Be the Enemy of Good
I feel myself holding back, like I would do with my dog while we were walking, her on a leash, and me with somewhere to go. She would try to sniff at something, many things, and rather than slow down I would tug the leash and she’d return to my pace. There were some very useful things sometimes hiding off the path when we first moved into her last house.
I have an acidic anxiety in my stomach, possibly a result of the chocolate ice cream and Fritos that I ate yesterday (it’s been a while since I ate that much corn in one go, I immediately knew it was the wrong thing to do, it was so painful) or the fact that the only other thing I ate was a glass of wine and a load
Why is embarrassment so hard for me to deal with, and why can I not even spell it? I blame (not the right word, but yes it sort of is) my Father, who puts image before everything, his own physical well being, and mine. I was raised to look nothing less than perfect, never limp even if you only have one leg.