Narcoleptic Nightmares

One week he crossed the line, talking about how much he thinks about the random reckless act of idiocy we committed three years ago. The next week he was back to reality, acting like what he said was normal and telling me he was narcoleptic; I was mad I cared. I even sent him an email expressing my concern. That's the dumb side of me. I can't turn off my concern for people, even when they show me it isn't necessary because they don't care either way.

Men often let themselves "off the emotional hook," and act like there is no such thing as taking responsibility for what happens when they open their mouths. His defense when I confronted him about what he said was, "I didn't know you would take that so seriously..." Seriously dude?

Do you really think changing the subject to your health problems wasn't going to allow me to question your intentions when you verbally vomited your "in-the-moment" feelings all over the front seat of my car? Or was I just supposed to think that because you have elsewhere obligations that you're allowed to play with the single girl who writes the interesting stories because...she writes, so she understands fiction? Yeah...I know...I'm, you know, "too serious..." Whatever... I'm always crystal clear with my desires, and I'm not one to have those played with by anyone. Why would you light the fuse of a fire cracker and then act surprised because she had the nerve to explode? Seems kind of stupid to me.

My frustration gives birth to nothing but more frustration, however. Men always win. There's always a woman waiting in the wings. Their minds allow so much distraction during a typical day full of their own issues and problems that there's no room to think about how their actions affect the insignificant people in their lives. I understand this now, so I'm placing all this at the feet of the culprit and walking away. I accept that he will not follow me... AND NOW THE TOAST...

...I lift this mug of moroccan mint tea to "amazing, radioactive" you. I'm glad one of us can retreat to the sweet bed of memory without wishing for the chance to do things differently - to show some self-respect and not send the message that it's okay to be treated like a fleeting fantasy with no substance. Knowing what I know now, I would definitely have done things differently. I would have signed out my email and pretended I didn't know you for a while. I wouldn't have shared my thoughts or writing with you. But there's nothing we can do about that now...so I'm letting myself off the hook for caring for you a little too much. Not that it was love, or anything close, but even the little bit of the damn I gave was too taxing...

Sweet Dreams...