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Now, I want to switch into third person because I'm a punk. When I'm told what to do, I often will oppose it just to get my small measure of breadcrumbed power.
I'm surprised you're coming to see me today. It confuses me because you're so the opposite of my last tentative suitor who was in love with another woman. You never ever text me. In fact, our texts have grown less frequent as we know each other. I'm never going to play a game of who could care less, but am I playing it?
When I first met you, my imagination was fucking captured. Like most chicks of my ilk do, I shipped you all the way to the end game: is this dude husband material. That certainly seems the dimmest of possibilities now, but had there been zero - we would be nada. Even what we are, what are we? I sacrificed my only connection in this tiny little town so I wouldn't have to sell my body to gain some company. It sucked to feel the same way you felt when you were 11: "oh oh oh oh oh this was all a delusion."
So, obvi, I'll cut my entire body off digit by toe to not have anyone really have me again. It was really really fun to be married when the only time you got to have fun was when your spouse was being babysat by someone else - usually his own children.
And, I would have stayed in that shitty fake second marriage where I never loved him even despite how he shat on me when I was down and hit me more than once. For me, I was willing to do it because of my position: wife of a San Francisco architect who went to MIT and has three kids.
In reality, I should have cut him the moment I knew his title was project manager. I fucking detest project managers for some reason. It rankles me.
On my second cup of coffee Andrew, and I can still picture your deer in the headlight look and still still still wait for the day that I truly pity you. For now, I'm still a bit poisoned from the ... from how it all went down.
Do you know how hard it is to put yourself out there? For the first 18 months, I thought I was worthy of nothing but rejection and death. I felt like any relationship with me would eventually end in destruction and betrayal. I felt like I was worse than the worst person because I was smart and I knew better but I still broke.
It sucked.
Not that anyone really cared.
I deal with my shit pretty much alone which is likely why I'm so fookin terrible at it. I mean who would really love me? Could I?
So, I play again. I dabble in the deep. It hasn't quite been fun yet, but the only thing that ever makes me less alone is writing you.
"All I want to do is to thank you even though I don't know who you are. You let me change lanes when I was driving in my car. Whoever you are. I want to thank you."
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