Friday, June 27, 2008

Bittersweet return: part 2


I hope you’re feeling refreshed after that last post. Eager to read what comes next in this sad saga. Read on.

This last one is the one that really irks me. Pisses me off to the point I get drunk and talk about it. And by talk, I clearly mean blabber to whomever is unlucky enough to be sitting next to me. But I digress—back to the END. He stopped responding. At first, I was nonplussed. Clearly he’s emotionally unavailable and not good with feelings or power dynamics, hence the communicating in 140 character increments.

But as the days passed, I went through the Kubler-Ross stages of grief.

  • Denial—Maybe he didn’t get my last text. My phone sometimes doesn’t send texts right away. Occasionally, I’ll be sitting next to someone as they get a text I sent them hours ago. Sometimes whole days.
  • Anger—That emotional asshat can’t even return a goddamn text?! Really? Texting is the farthest thing from a commitment. Not that I would even want a commitment from him. Seriously? Fucker.
  • Bargaining—Just wait till the end of the summer. I’ll be back home and have plenty to do… I won’t text that often, I promise.
  • Depression—Texting just isn’t even worth it anymore.
  • Acceptance—No, screw it, I’m back to anger.

Why am I angry, you ask? Good question. It’s not like it was a committed relationship or one that had a future. It was the fast train to carpal tunnel syndrome and I should be glad to be done. Here’s why: he is dating someone. Like, a real girl. Probably a lady, actually.

I’m livid. It’s worse than a real breakup because I’m just mad I didn’t think of it first. And, because the reason we were texting in the first place is because he’s such a jerk he can’t relate to people face-to-face or even over the phone. But now, he’s going on real, live dates, and I’m writing a fucking blog post.

God, I want a Diet Coke.

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