Why is it that some men just can’t deal with their emotions, and why on earth do I attract them like flies? Tell me that Mom. Why?

So Mr.Blue.Eyes leaves his phone at my place the other night, and so I leave early for work the next morning to drop it off, and he’s not there. Then I get off a stop early and go to his house after work – and he’s not home yet.

He shows up at my door a half hour later… “Do you have my phone”.

Then proceeds to grill me on whether or not I went through it or not. I said, “Yes, but only to look and see if anyone contacted you and if it was urgent”. He’s all like “right, sure you did”.

I said to him…”Now I thought about rifling through your phone…but I didn’t”.

Like, right, I’m stupid? AND find something, perhaps take it all wrong, or out of context, than flounder in guilt and anger for a few days not able to say anything to you? Yeah, I’m getting all over that.

I of course made the colossal mistake this last weekend and went so far as to tell him that I’m beginning to really sort of like him. Stupid me.

After he was done interrogating me over whether or not I invaded his precious privacy, he proceeded to treat me like some scank he picked up at the bar last weekend. Ok, so we did MEET at a bar, but that was four months ago, I think I warrant a bit more consideration at this point.

One weekend we’re all like making dinner together, and cuddled up on the couch watching serial episodes of Weeds, and the next I’m trash? Maybe that’s not the vibe he thinks he’s sending, but that’s the vibe I’m getting. Wishy washy weirdo. Figures

Yes, of course I should know better. Silly me. How on earth do I either end up with Mr. Emotional-crazy-guy, or wouldn’t-know-an-emotion-if-it-was-peeing-at-the-next-urinal guy? What’s wrong with I’m-emotionally-well-adjusted guy?

Perhaps its the venue.

So last night around 3am back here at my abode, after partaking in some libations at my pub with a friend (quit snickering Mom), I texted Mr.Blue.Eyes this whole stream of nonsensical angry words, and some random letters of the alphabet for good measure…and woke up this morning feeling a little rough around the edges, but none the worse for wear.

I am glad I went out last night though. Going to the pub is so much more enjoyable than out to the bar – totally different class of folk hang out in real pubs. I always spend less, and rarely get picked up, and leave at the end of the night with a grin on my face.

So I’m done. I’m so bloody done.

I decided at some point yesterday that I deserve someone who is more interested in,  now this would be new, someone who is actually more interested in getting to know ME, then they are in me getting to know THEM.

Which is another trait that bothers me about him – he’s always going on about how I’m “getting to him”, every time he acts like a royal jerk. As if this is most important, and god knows I’m just simple, and not worthy of more attention than a cuddle and a tug at my ponytail for good measure. Sure. I’m just like ALL the other girls out there, why bother getting to know me? What’s to know?

You know, I explained to him that I didn’t have to tell him anything. I could have just said “No dear, I didn’t even open your phone once”…and bat my long eye lashes at him. I could have, I thought about it, but that’s not how I operate, and that is NOT the kind of relationship I want. So if he can’t appreciate me and my truth, than that’s all I need to know.

Finito.

You know Mom, I miss having you to discuss my life with. I miss calling you to unburden my self of the shite that accumulates in the corners of the days and nights.

Yesterday morning at work one of my co-workers said how her Mom was supposed to be coming up to visit her this weekend, so they could go shopping for her daughter who’s moving out next weekend. But the weather is supposed to be shite, so she said she probably won’t come. She said how she loves shopping with her Mom.

I got a little teary when she said that, but all I said back was “Yeah, me too”.

I miss our talks. I miss those late night over a bottle of wine talks. The pep talks, the hugs at the end of a bad night talks. I miss that you never said “I told you so”. Never made me feel I’d made a mistake, only learned a lesson, hopefully. Or not…but you never said it, and you only ever wanted me to feel happy, not ashamed of myself. Thank you for listening to my truths, and hearing my hurts, and giving me a bottle a perfume to make me feel better after that asshole gave me crabs. Even then, even when I royally walk into shit, you always let me track it through the house…and carry it right into your kitchen…and from there I could dispose of it however I wish. Thank you.

Love Paula