one of THOSE posts…(a rambling rant on C_S)

I needed to vent and let things out and drink whilst doing so, and so I did. And now I’m hungover, at work, with a very rotten smell coming from certain parts of me. I ate McDonald’s last night. Apparently, I really wanted to punish my body. Plus, my boss just asked me to come to the manager’s meeting because he’s bad at doing his job of being an effective manager and reporting what his employees are doing because he has no idea what any of us do. In case the hungover statement didn’t adequately imply that I look like shit, let me go ahead and say it: I look like shit. I’m sleep-deprived. And I didn’t bother giving a fuck about my appearance this morning because I expected to sit in my cubicle and wait out the day without any real interaction with anyone, but now…I get to be in a two-hour meeting with all the division heads and their boss. Yay. Let’s hope my stomach and/or bowels don’t rebel, or expel.

On last night’s rant, one of several topics covered was, of course, Chris. And once I was mindless enough, I sent him a drunken message, of course. And as a result, I woke up in a worry over what I said…of course. My drunken messages are never really bad, and there’s nothing about the content that’s regretful. Generally. The problem comes in when I message people who I shouldn’t be talking to in the first place and I only engage them because I’m drunk, lonely, and vying for attention. That’s scenario number one. Scenario number two is when I’m drunk and message one of my friends because I’m being sad and whiny. There’s a bit of a trend here. Wait, oh my god. Am I a sad drunk? Shit, that’s horrible news. The third scenario, which is the one that occurred last night, is when I message a person because I like them in a romantic way and need to express my feelings for them to them. The message to Chris wasn’t bad. I’m drunk. This is what’s happening around me. I don’t care about your mental stability. We’re both crazy. I like you. I can’t wait to see you again. I’m a pirate. In a nutshell. I feel nervous and regretful about it because I let my thoughts and feelings go unreined. I showed my hand, and it’s bad habit I have.

Yes, I was drunk and I shouldn’t worry about it because I doubt anyone really takes a drunk message seriously (especially if they’ve left one before) because, you know, the person is drunk. Obviously, words are just spilling out of their mouth haphazardly. It’s whatever. Still, I’m pretty damned convinced that this type of forthright proclamation is the very thing that scares people away. Whoa! She’s going too fast! She likes me an excessive amount! Crazy, clingy girl on the loose! And I don’t want to be that girl–I’m trying NOT to be that girl. I’m trying really hard, actually. It’s not so much that I like the person excessively (or maybe it is and I’m oblivious to the intensity of my emotions compared to that of others), I just excessively feel the need to tell the person that I like them. But because I was drunk last night, and despite the restraint I’ve been trying to practice, it got away from me, as it occasionally does, so now I’m worried that he will see me as that girl, too. In reality, it shouldn’t matter because he’s unemployed, isn’t ready to date, and can’t drive. By all accounts, he’s a fucking loser and I can do so much better. And people don’t like him because (I think) they don’t know how to take him (i.e. they’re intimidated and take him way too seriously on account of his booming voice and strongly opinionated, slightly arrogant personality). Yet, here I am. Again. Not knowing what I’m doing. Unable to determine which of my feelings is legit. Probably trying to make a wrong a right because something is better than nothing, even if the nothing is wrong, or because I can’t admit/process the wrongs when I encounter them.

Fuck.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t contact me so frequently. If he wasn’t tagging me in posts that he wants me to see, and commenting on posts I make, and making his internet presence very much known. Emailing me. Calling me. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t keep saying “You’re fine, Chenille” and telling me not worry about it and that nothing I say or do will scare him away. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wouldn’t pop up right after I’ve deleted all of his messages in an attempt to disconnect and distance myself in preparation for the inevitable. Everyone else made it blatantly clear that this was no longer of any interest to them. Why is he still talking to me? Why won’t he just go ahead and tell me to fuck off already? Why is he making me the one who decides whether or not this thing continues? You know I’m not going to quit! You know I’m not strong enough to do that! Why the hell was he even brought into my life? Because you know what’s going to happen. You know how I’m going to react. Is this suppose to be a ‘practice round’ for me learning how to walk away from things or discerning what is real from that which is not? What the fuck? And don’t tell me it’s just another thing and it means nothing, because you’re talking to a woman to has to find meaning in everything. Everything happens for a reason. So what’s the reason for this? WHY IS HE HERE? No. Why is he here, meshing well with me, having a messy life, and being accessible, but slightly unavailable?

Wait! It’s a ploy. It totally is. He has figured me out and realized that he can ride this out and have me as his girl-whatever and I’ll go along with it because I’m weak and totally starry-eyed for him (nevermind the fact that I’m not going to sleep with him, and I already have someone I’m sleeping with and another guy I’m trying to resume a thing with). Meanwhile, he can be whatever without any consequences. What am I doing with my life?! Why are you even here?! The fact that he was brought into my life is unfair and it’s bullshit and it’s a crime that there is no one to tell me what to do, or slap me in the face because I’m in denial and not seeing what I should. And it’s hard to listen to them anyway because they don’t feel what I feel. And I don’t know if I’m making the right decisions or not because I don’t know if I can trust my feelings. They’ve been so wrong in the past and I’m tired of them being wrong. I’m tired of being disappointed and hurt, by my self and others. I just. Don’t. Know.

No. I do know. The fact that I’m belaboring and battling over the situation should be a like a bonk on the forehead (granted, it’s all internal..still, a battle nonetheless). I just deleted everything since the last time I deleted everything. I never saved his phone number, so that was an easy trace to remove. Emails are gone. I can’t unfriend him because that would obviously cause him to question my actions and then he’d definitely contact me. This way, if I drunkenly decide to contact him I’ll remember that I deleted everything and then I’ll remember why I deleted everything and then I’ll stop. I’ll still want to contact him, probably, but there is a decreased likelihood of me acting upon that desire. Yeah. Fuck the 90-day waiting period. 90 days is too damn long. I will have fallen ‘in love’ with him by then and then I’d really be fucked. Yeah. This is totally better and exactly what I need to do. Walk away, and don’t let him back in.

And that’s usually how it goes. Every time I write about him, that’s how it goes. At least three times, now. And in conversation, it never gets that deep because someone always interjects and comments on something I said so the train is derailed before it makes it to the station.

So that’s what I wanted to say in my rant last night.