2AM trash

It’s 2 AM. And according to the break up 9 months ago, I should be out and not holding back and having that crazy thing called fun. It hasn’t hit me like this in awhile. I’ve been having that extra drink and throwing my hands up in the air and happy. Letting go and feeling good. Seeing the brit or not seeing the brit, seeing him or not seeing him. Being fine and moving. And yet...

And I know you’re tired of hearing excuses just as much as I am. And yet, I’m tired of trying to meet the next guy in a bar. And I”m tired of trying to meet him online. Or through friends or ad parties. And it’s been nine months and it’s not a matter of getting over him, it’s a matter of getting around and through.

I’m starting a new position next week and my desk is close to his. And when I say close, I mean, I'll be delving into Dante’s definition of hell ‘proximity without intimacy’. I’ll become a master on it, WHILE I become a master on my new position. Position and role first, before emotion and feelings. Me, before him.

I was out at a party last week and with a totally fresh, new group of friends. The massive tray of food that was at this party included one main eye catching dessert- the vanilla cookies at Starbucks that used to be left at my desk by him. I'm constantly reminded of him. When will those cookies just be cookies again?

I leave the office in a rush, cause I’m 10 minutes late to whatever, as I dive to open the elevator door, he’s there...waiting to go down.

End of the work day on Friday. I’m outside putting on my gloves and he saddles up next to me and tells me I look confused. I was deep breathing after a long, long day with family drama on the side...I smile and tell him I was just looking for my gloves. He mentions how it’s not that cold out for gloves, am I trying to look fashionable instead? I smile, again...and say, I’m cold. Was never one for putting fashion before practical. He says, he knows and hopes I have a good weekend.

Now I’m here. With that gut to throat feeling of loneliness left on a Saturday night. And I turned to the guys I was with tonight and waited for them to say the right things. Fill in the right blanks. And when it didn’t come at the right time, I grew tired and antsy. And soon I started feeling unpretty and wishing a secure hand would hold the small of my back and gently gide my body home to bed.

And yet even after all this time and seeing how far I’ve come and how good and crisp and new I feel, I still want him deep, down...to turn to me and want something different from me. To stop playing the daily games and just admit that he's in it all for me.

Ugh, maybe it's nothing and I'll just blame the sangria and my tired feet.