7 Satchels of Bullshit for you, my love

What a world, squirrels, what a world.
I almost missed today’s post. I was so itching to sit down and write before I left for work this morning but I was on edge.
I allow him to get me rattled like that.
First off, big ups to me man… because having done this with this man hundreds of times now, I actually keep getting faster at coming back to reality but this morning, at my new scheduled writing time, I couldn’t do it. I was already behind schedule when I left as I had a few other things besides updating the blog to do because of fooling around with the monster’s fuckery.
After all this time of texting after his little email the other day I still cannot tell you why this man messaged me.
I have asked someone in South Carolina and in Indiana.
I’ve asked him and no reasonable answers have presented themselves from any direction.
Indiana said he and I have a soul tie.
South Carolina got what I believe to be closer to the reason for saying he just wants to see if he can waste my time whenever he feels like wasting it.
Listen, I enjoy talking to him so I do enjoy the time spent even when were fighting because of whatever dumb shit we are fighting about I am still having a blast even if I feel like my heart exploded, I got to feel heart explosions and although its not something I would recommend, I can say, I know what that is. I’m not just experiencing these emotions through other people’s recollections like, they are happening in my body and I have the kind of body that’s wired for passion and drama.
He’s just funny to me and I asked him, who emails their former mistress and just says hey? What the hell do you want? He looks like Thumper the bunny from that cartoon whenever we talk. He’s got one of those go on and smack me faces because I deserve a slap and I have trouble resisting.
He has trouble resisting too.
I love that.
I don’t want him. I don’t need to see him, or sleep with him, or listen to his monkey ass snore.
I just like to know every six months or so evidently, that he is still suffering on the inside a little bit about it and honestly, that is more than enough.
Its not the displaced limbs or phantom pains that getcha.
Its that zillionth papercut in the same place, one more time.
Usually my recovery time from talking to him is weeks. Got it down to days a few years ago and if I’m not mistaken, in December, I got it down to like a full day.
Today? A few hours. Yes, it cost me whatever I was going to write organically this morning, and that alone cannot continue because fuck you hoe, I’m making promises to myself now that I intend to keep, but it’s all good.
He told me he’s run a marathon and been working out and been climbing rocks and shit.
He told me how happy he was with his life now and how he wanted to keep it like that.
And then he said he can’t help it that he fantasizes…
He can’t live two lives and its a real bummer.
I’m laughing at myself because we’ve had this chat a few times and honestly, I was there for them but I was not present. I was already onto the next plot, the next plan, the next cock cage for him.
I wasn’t listening.
I heard him today.
I noticed after telling me all the shit he has accomplished since I had seen him last in not one instance did he talk about making at least one other motherfucker on this planet happy too. Nobody. Just Him. He’s happy.
Right.
When you listen, because you are secure in your own value, you can hear when there is congruence between the words being used, the lie being peddled, and the truth of the matter.
Nobody could actually pinpoint why he reached out to me, not even him.
Soul tie or not if you were happy you would want me to be happy too and if my happiness included leaving me the fuck alone if you don’t still feel anything for me anymore, and vice versa, then you wouldn’t bother me, knowing full well it would make me unhappy, now would ya?
If you were happy you wouldn’t be reaching out to an ex from 8 years ago drunk or sober, now would ya?
You must think I’m some low hanging easy mark type fruit if the objective was to test your own strength.
As soon as you reached out to me you failed.
I let you think you are winning the battle in our interactions but we keep having interactions don’t we? My conversation is better than Candy Crush. There is no guilty pleasure more sinister and absolutely addictive than me.
You’re playing yourself if you think you are playing me and I’m here for it. I stay right here for it.
The worst part is I’m actually getting stronger.
There’s way less estrogen floating around these waters baby and as soon as I’m not entertained anymore I’m out.
The monster has had a special sway for a long time, a pedestal even, but I put him there, I build that shit and if you sit on it you’re already trapped because I can knock it down too and bury you under it in remembrance.
I don’t care what he wanted really, or the purpose behind his reaching out. I was still effective at my job, didn’t crash my car from texting him like I did 8 years ago, didn’t get blackout drunk, didn’t curse him out and cry and fuss and skip meals. I just paced the floor for longer than I should have and smoked a little more than I should have and laughed at the whole situation.
I love a fucking narcissist like him, I really do, just the sheer amount of emptiness inside- and me being endless I just want to fill it all up, to the top, so full they can’t breathe, and keep filling.
Delicious.
Delirious.
Detrimental.
Dumb.
I feel good. I know better. I’m Anakin if he had listened to Yoda when he told him to stop trying to guess the future and let go, right, of all the dumb, delicious, delirious, detrimental bullshit that you love.
Ah my fluffy little squirrel friends. Shit is sinking in…