clarity

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I feel bad about how much I write about Bene-driving-me-crazy Come-on-back. I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m sitting around crying over him. I’m not. That I am thinking of him when I’m with Ed or Andy. I don’t.

But I do think about him. I miss him. I want him. Still. And I have nowhere to put those feelings, so they get put here. This whole fucking blog was pretty much started out of the crushed hopes and fueled frustrations of his opting in & out. & in. & out. I like me some in & out but not like that.

Meeting him reminded me that I wasn’t an old hag. I’m not expired on the shelf. And I’ve finally had luck meeting men that don’t suck. That are interesting, that have some reciprocity of interest in me. That aren’t opting out every other week. You’d think I’d just forget that Benedouche. I’d love to. But I haven’t yet. But this is the place for me to vent these feelings. To try to understand what the fuck happened. I have the hope that at some point I’ll just not feel any lustful longing for that dude.

& of course that’s when he’ll opt back in.  Or not. Maybe he doesn’t think of me. Long for me. Maybe he thinks I’m a fucking cow. I just don’t know. I’m glad I’m not on some celibacy trip. I hope it works for him, in theory. In actuality I hope it doesn’t work and he decides that our sex was far more therapeutic and we can get back to it. But as previously stated, you can’t always get what you want.

I’m completely and totally excited about Ed and Andy. I am waiting impatiently to spend time with Ed Norton next week, he’s had busy man job stuff keeping him away. I’m waiting impatiently for Andy to have a night off from work to spend with me. I want to see each of them. I wait for it. I get excited. I cease to have a single thought of Benedude. But when I have too much free time, as I do lately, my thoughts drift there. And then to get them out I write. And it helps. It hasn’t helped me forget about him but I don’t feel crazy. I don’t feel overwhelmed.

Maybe that fucker’s compartmentalization skills rubbed off on me a little bit. I’d make some clever comment about oooh, rubbing but I just don’t have one.

Someday I’ll post my last post about my dear Benedict Celibate. But not today.

Or maybe, today?

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