I feel rejected all over again, and most of all I feel angry that I feel this way. Recently I was thinking about the scar he left... visible, healed, part of the skin, a wound which no longer requires tending. I was relieved that someone who yelled at strangers who cut in front of him in line was no longer a potential husband.
A few weeks ago I commented to a friend that I do not miss being in love. I meant it then; I mean it now. I don't miss the vulnerability, the anxiety, the constant phone call analyzation. I like planning my life-- my life. I like the anticipation of wondering when the right man will arrive. He'll get here when he gets here. But then, why should he enjoy the happy companionship of a soulmate when he has caused me so much pain? How is that fair? It's not, of course, which is simply life unfolding as it unfolds--which brings me right back to feeling angry that I feel this way. And so we circle.
I am the only cousin of seven who is not permanently attached. Nobody says anything about it. Nobody has to.
These, my children, are the fruits of installing IM on a work computer.
September 19, 2003