THE RESULTS ARE IN

Thanks for tuning in. if you’re reading this, I express my thanks. Thanks for taking the time to get a glimpse into the inner workings of me.

Confrontation. Today. Not more than an hour ago. All my fears confirmed. In order not to become physically violent (psychological violence already in progress), not to break things, and to stop myself from punching my face any more, I just skateboarded three miles, fast. Sweating, angry eyes blazing out of cheap, see-through aviators. The preppy, surf-themed t-shirt a friend gave me very recently, now drenched in sweat. The anger boils just below the surface. And why?

Because she told me at the beginning that she couldn’t be in a relationship right now. But that’s not true. Because we had been together, we just hadn’t called it by that name. Minutes after we spoke, it came to me:

It’s not that she can’t be in a relationship right now, IT’S THAT SHE CAN’T BE IN ONE WITH ME. And why? Cash fucking money baby. I can’t afford to swoop her in my car, and finance a trip downtown, to go shoot guns at the shooting range. And that’s about all she fucking wrote. Cash fucking money. Or maybe it’s the major design flaws that I see permeating my system right now. My niceness, often confused with pushover syndrome. My empathy. The fact that I chew my fingernails. My inability to fully appreciate the sexual encounter unless my partner can fully appreciate it herself. My apathy toward anything I decide not to care about.

Except for the cash flow situation, I got everything else pretty much covered. I love her, even if she never really believed me. I have loved them all, and will have an empty place in my heart for each and every one of them, till it stops beating. How many more holes can I take? How many more empty places will I be able to bear before LOVE stops coming, before everything is just a fucking illusion? Just a lie?

I wish you the best, beautiful Bostonian. I hope your man now, the one with whom you CAN be in a relationship, makes you happy. I hope he keeps your belly warm, and your bed rumpled, and gives you what you need. I hope that the respect I have for you as a person, for you as a friend (?), shows in today’s call. In today’s attempt to reach closure. I think I understand your decision, why you decided NOT to go with my offer, and upgraded instead:

The average relationship lasts, what, about 14 months? And not having money sucks anywhere, but in L.A. especially. Plus, if things are going well, and you see yourself being with this person for a while, you want the assurance that your life isn't going to be a miserable, poor mess for the forseeable future. Plus, you start thinking about kids, and they need cash, you can't be poor for that shit.

Yes, things did peter off. Things kind of just stopped, after you carved me out of your life a few weeks ago. The one thing though, the thing that really pisses me off, is that you said you were my girlfriend, just not by name. then, you met him, and he was great and wonderful and well connected and had fucking cash, and then the feelings stopped along with the close contact. THAT pisses me off.

That you just let me fall by the fucking wayside, and confirmed my fears that I was just a placeholder all along; just a stopping point, someone to get you back into the rhythm of dating, of having someone close. I was a stepping stone, to get you from isolation back up to speed, back up to where you could net a hot, nice, rich guy, and have him provide for you, and make you happy.

So. Enough. If you’re reading this, please know that I’m not mad: I saw this coming from the beginning. Don’t believe me? Read back a few posts. I’m just sad that it actually happened, that I dared to hope, dared to love. But, fuck it. There’s no money in a pity party. So, godspeed, faire thee well, welcome to the fucking dollhouse.

Out. X