Sniffle
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08 May 2008 ›
9:33am
Well… it sank.
Our little ship built from scraps of scruffy hair and skinny jeans, stuck together with whiskey and Orbit gum has gone down, down, down, down. Last night, at about midnight, Bloke called and pulled the plug. Actually I was the technical plug puller but it was obvious that he’d opened the door and was standing there like a gentleman, allowing me to slam it as a courtesy. He said he didn’t think that things were going so great and what did I think blah blah blah. Cut to me saying, “I don’t think we should do this anymore.” He said that he was still crazy about me, but that the whole long distance thing was all of the bad parts of a relationship and none of the good parts. I agreed. I got off the phone first, even though I wanted to stay on forever and keep him talking through the night like a hostage negotiator waiting for the cops to break down the backdoor. Anything so that it wouldn’t be sewn up. But old habits die hard and I shifted into self preservation mode and said that I had to get some sleep. Pride is such an ass kicker.
So it goes without saying that I’ve got the blues. My new office is much harder to sneak out of than my old office—being that it is an actual office rather than a glorified hallway. So I’ve been taking lots of bathroom breaks to cry, dry and reapply. This blows to the tenth power. Luckily Ali has cleared her social calendar for me and has a 46 hour, relationship detox planned that she says will have me saying “Bloke who?” before he’s even called to get his records back.