Monday, June 8, 2020


I'm just like everyone else. I'm doing great and then 5 p.m. rolls around and I have things I want to tell her, I want to make certain she's okay, and I'm also mad as hell that she took so little responsibility for the breakdown of this relationship. So oxytocin/cortisol/dopamine depletion. In a pill box, I'm one chill ass motherfucker.

I'm whining. I hate whiney people. Pull yourself together you sap! It's not like it was so tough for her to show you that she respected and cared for you, that her professions of love were more than lip-service. She knew you were wide open until that final exchange. And then she said you didn't have to say anything.

I know it's 15 minutes to 7 p.m. I'm going to bed early tonight. I despise that I'm 45 and going through this again as if I were in my late teens. She could have been perfect for me. She could have been the rest of my life. Grief is a spiny bitch. 

I'mma go cuddle with it.

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