Tag Archives: Botboy

BotCon 2016

Flashback to about three years ago – The Botboy Era.  He was away.  I was taking his newly-purchased toys into my bedroom closet for safekeeping.  He kept talking about this convention called “BotCon” (a convention for all-things TransFormers (and their collectors)) and, when he got his Golden Ticket (an exclusive pass to the convention), he was over the moon.  The only concern was whether he was going to get back in time to go.

Things happened – we didn’t talk for awhile.  I assume he went – he certainly spent enough money on that ticket so that it would have been a shame if he hadn’t.  After we got back in touch, I may have even asked if he went; I don’t remember.  I wouldn’t say I quite forgot about the convention, but it was held in San Diego… far away from me and, while I became interested in the toys, the comics, and even the original TV show (until Netflix took it down – Fuck you, Netflix), I wasn’t interested enough to get on a plane and fly all that way for something like that.  (BlizzCon?  That’s a totally different story.)

Flash-forward again.  I’ve since left Tampa.  I don’t talk to Botboy anymore… haven’t heard a word out of him since August 2014, before I moved and when I told him about Ormsby.  True to his word, back in early 2014, as soon as he found out that I was seeing someone else, he’s never spoken to me again.  As tempted as I was to reach out to him when I was there for a visit a few weeks back, just to see how he was doing, I resisted it.  Sometimes, maybe, the past is best left in the past, I thought.

But, then, randomly, I found out that in 2016, for some absurd reason, BotCon was coming to Louisville.  I was sorely tempted to go – but Ormsby and I already had plans out of town.  When those plans fell through, however, it was like a green light signaled “go” and I began to seriously consider going.  Understand: I wouldn’t have if the convention had been anywhere EXCEPT where I live.  I still have an interest in Giant Robots, I need to revive the Adventures of Prowl series (and I will soon), and seriously, the only real regret I have about Botboy is that I did not ask him for the full reading list of those comics he started me on years ago so I could continue on my own, because I’d be lost if I started them now.  Further, as much as I heard about it in 2013, as integral it was to the conversations (and the websites I’d visit, and the phone numbers I’d call, trying to investigate when those Golden Tickets were going to go on sale), I felt like I NEEDED to see it for myself.  I had no interest in buying a Golden Ticket – they are very expensive, and while I like the Robots, I am not a mega-enough fan to justify spending that kind of money on something like that.  But General Admission would be Saturday and Sunday and I could swing that.  And pay for Ormsby’s ticket too.

So on Saturday, it was decided that Ormsby and I would first go to the U of L Honors Book sale on campus, and then head downtown to the Galt House for BotCon.  I didn’t have any desire to go to any of the panels.  Watching the people dressed up in TransFormers costumes was pretty awesome (and also pretty hysterical).


And we had fun trailing through the rows of things to buy.

Retail Area

Ormsby found instances where TransFormers met Star Wars and he was happy.  I found a woman who sews and embroiders Giant Robots and bought Starscream.  A few rows down, I found Bumblebee (in a Red, VW Beetle).  I purchased both, because they both have meaning for me – Starscream being my favorite.  Red VW Beetles being an interest that my father and I share.  Though, when I sent my father a photo of it, I think I was more amused than he was.  Dad might get more excited about it if I ever took it out of the box and let him play with it, but I simply can’t do that.  Even I don’t take it out of the box.  Those damned habits picked up well in the past (that have little to do with me) are hard to shake sometimes.  I should have purchased two.  Then I’d have one to play with.  But Christ, that shit is not cheap.  And bills.  Fucking bills.

SSPlushie  TakaraRedBB

Then, happy but a little more broke than I intended to be, we left.  Because my god, if we’d stayed longer, I’d have spent my entire paycheck that I’d gotten on Friday and I had bills to pay.

If Botboy came to Louisville for this, he didn’t contact me.  I didn’t expect him to. And when we were at the convention, I didn’t see him meandering around, either.  Preferring to avoid the awkward, I was really ok with that, but Ormsby was a little disappointed (he, apparently, would like to meet him for some odd reason). He really wanted me to tell him where to find his Facebook profile so he could send him a message and tell him that he should go to dinner with us… Because a dinner with Botboy, Lord Ormsby, and Crazypants (me) at the same table would be… loads of fun… yes.  :S

I don’t know if I was expecting to run into him or not… I guess I was prepared for the possibility that we would.  Or, at least, prepared in the same way the way that water is prepared to move through a tube – seeking the path of least resistance… meaning if he’d spoken to me, I’d have responded.  If he didn’t, I wouldn’t have pushed it.  It didn’t really matter.  Running into Botboy wasn’t the point in the first place.  I knocked something off the bucket list (more cheaply than I would have if it had been in any other city, at any other time).  I have some things to remember the experience by.  I’m good with that.

Next on the list is BlizzCon…  and for that, when I finally manage to make it happen, you better believe I WILL be buying a fucking Golden Ticket. Or whatever they hell they’re called there. And I’ll be costumed as some of my own characters.

Ashley Madison’s Revelation

Cheating is stupid.

Cheating on people that have the know-how and the motivation to find what they need to find (ie: nerds – particularly the hacker kind) takes the word “stupid” to a whole other level.

And the people that made profiles on Ashley Madison… a site that bases its money, its reputation, its livelihood on selling extramarital affairs?  Well… let’s just say that, in my opinion, they got what they deserved.

Because cheating… no matter the circumstance… is never okay.  “What about the people in open relationships?” you may ask.  Well, if they are open to begin with and both parties agree to that openness, then you can’t call that “cheating.”

Cheating is done willfully, for many motivations, but, no matter how you spin it, it grows out of ego… out of selfishness… out of an inability to consider the other person in the relationship, and to put their needs, their feelings above your own.

And if it’s retaliatory cheating?  It’s still not an excuse – because cheating is something you don’t EVER have to tolerate.  You can just leave the relationship… Leaving solves a lot of problems in that instance: the spouse/significant other that was cheating is no longer cheating, you don’t have to deal with their selfish ass anymore – not to mention you’ve opted out of all of the suspicion and drama you’d probably deal with after you “worked it out.” And, of course, there’s the knowledge that, if you find someone else you want to date, you can do so freely – without the constraints of another relationship, without worrying about the lies, and the sneaking around, and the bullshit that is inevitably associated with something that is dishonest.

So I didn’t feel sorry for the people that had all of their information published.  Why should I?  I do not cheat.  Even when I was in a marriage that was completely and totally useless, I never cheated.  And if I find out that someone has cheated on me?  I fucking leave.  End of story.

Still… I have a lot of exes.  And there’s been some suspected infidelity involved with those exes (theirs, not mine). I got a little curious… and I tried to get my hands on that list.  Or, at least, a way to filter through that 10 gigs of data, because even I don’t have that much spare time or inclination to look at EVERYONE’S names (though admittedly, that would have been a wealth of blog fodder to go on for the next five years).

When I finally found a search engine that would let me find users by the email addresses they used to subscribe, I knew which address I wanted to run first.  Botboy’s.  I can’t say why… I can’t even say that I was going to be surprised if it did.  Because if any of my exes had a profile up there, I knew it would have been him.  And something in me knew exactly which of his many email addresses he’d use if he were going to sign up for that site…

And on my first try, I got a hit.  Photo attached for those of you that need proof – or as much proof as I’m willing to give.  You’ll have to trust me here.


Now… like the site says, I can’t prove that he signed up for this (perhaps it’s not him at all).  I can’t even prove that if this really is him, he signed up for this when he and I were talking… this could be a holdover from his prior marriages for all I know.  Or it could have happened long after I left Tampa.  But that’s not the point.  The point is that this speaks volumes about his character.

And, as I also predicted, I wasn’t surprised.  I laughed, actually.  And when Ormsby asked me who that email address belonged to, I told him.  And he laughed too.

Because, you see, I made a decision over a year ago now based on one conversation in a parking lot that I had with Ormsby.  It was June 2014, and I was getting on a plane to go back to Tampa.  Ormsby and I had spent that weekend together and, not wanting to leave him hanging… the way that so many of my predecessors had, I asked him what he wanted me to do about it.  I gave him the option, you see, of having me… of foregoing the “waiting” that I was doing for a (or so I thought) deployed Botboy.

Rather than take what I was offering, Ormsby said the thing that set him apart from any other person I have ever dated: that he didn’t want to do anything, or make any decisions, as long as I was waiting for Botboy… that he could not do that to someone that was in his position.

And as I sat there on the plane, heading home, back to work, back to waiting for Botboy, I realized something: Ormsby was the better man.  Because what he’d said, what he’d done for Botboy – a man he didn’t even know… a man that, truthfully, didn’t even deserve that kind of consideration… that is something Botboy would NEVER have done for him if the tables had been turned.

This Ashley Madison revelation… it was further proof of what I already knew.  And now that that’s all behind me, I didn’t really NEED the proof.  I already HAD the proof – a year and a half of waiting for absolutely nothing, of being left hanging, of being, in essence, the fallback girl… that was all the proof I really needed.  And even though the Botboy chapter has, in all honesty, been closed ever since I chose to fly up to Louisville in July of 2014 to save Ormsby instead of waiting for the Botboy, who was due back in town at any moment, it still felt good to see the confirmation, in all its glory, on a computer screen.

The L Word

First, to make things clear:  I do not have a problem with having, or showing, emotional love.  When I feel it, I have no qualms about and make no issue of displaying that, whether it be through random acts of kindness, generosity, PDA, etc.  I am not afraid of the emotion in and of itself.  The word, though, and in particular, the verbal EXPRESSION of the word?  Now that’s fucking scary.

I don’t think I always thought it was scary.  Like, pre-marriage, expressing it was… well… if not habitual or normal, just something that was done when I felt that way, confident that HE (whoever that recipient was at the time) felt that way also, and never fearful that the admission would ever be used against me or not reciprocated, or that the word meant to me what it meant to him.

But then, after the divorce, I fell into a string of… well… less than successful relationships with men who either misused the word or who couldn’t say it at all.  First there was Buttface, who had been saying it for the better part of ten years.  And who, once his divorce was filed for, moved up from Florida to, ostensibly, be closer to me (this is what he told me, at least, at first).  And then who suddenly, without explanation, without reason (at least as far as I could see) stopped saying it.  Now, I’ll take proper credit for not simply asking him why, and for sticking around for the better part of two years after, trying to “figure it out” when I could have moved on.  But once I realized, after all that time, that he wasn’t going to say it again, that he wasn’t going to tell me what had changed his mind, and, most importantly, that he was now dating (at thirty-one), a seventeen year old from Oklahoma, I cut my losses.  Oh, I got revenge in the end… of course… it was both warranted and necessary to the overall healing process (and of course when his cat took a shit all over the bed about a year later because the toilet-training efforts weren’t going to plan, I was pretty happy about that too). But, revenge or not, I began to realize that it was entirely possible to use that word, seem to mean it, then drop it like a really bad habit (by the way, that’s the worst comparison ever – if it’s a “habit,” that means it is not easy to break, but whatever).

Still, once I was over that, I chalked it up to bad luck, bad judgment, whatever, and decided to learn from the experience: if I was with a man who seemed to suddenly change, I would simply not tolerate it anymore, not waste as much time (god, NEVER as much time), and I would leave.  Or if I was with a man who simply would drag things out, string me along, and never progress, again, I’d leave. But, of course, I didn’t really think something worth having would be that hard to procure.  After all, I had had no problems pre-divorce.  Of course, I had been younger then, my boyfriends had also been younger (and probably less jaded), and I failed to take that into consideration.

Anyway.  After Buttface came 3.0.  THIS guy, I’m convinced, simply wasn’t capable of feeling the emotion. I loved him, or at least I am pretty sure I did (though considering the minimal amount of time it took me to get OVER him, maybe I was just in love with the idea that he was pretty well off and had a nice condo in the nicest area of Tampa), but when I said it, not only did he not reciprocate, but he used the phrase, “I’m not sold.” Or simply just told me he wasn’t there yet.  Now, if that wasn’t bad enough, once he knew how I felt, he used it against me.  If I did something he didn’t like, if I did something he couldn’t tolerate, he’d say that he was… oh… 95 percent there, but then I did that, and it knocked it down to 92.  Yes.  He was a weirdo.  But I’m dedicated.  (And that’s not always the best thing… especially when the guys I’m dedicated to are not as dedicated to me.) So I stayed.  Or at least I tried.  But when it came down to holiday time, and I didn’t want to take someone home who could not feel for me what I was able to feel for him, and I CERTAINLY didn’t want to stick around for several years, wasting MORE time on another Buttface.  So I gave him the ultimatum.  And he thought about it for a few days.  And then it finally ended when he called and said, “I just don’t think I’m going to be able to fall in love with you, hon.” When he came over to get his stuff, he was crying.  I was not crying.  Not because I did not want to, but because I had decided that he did not deserve to see it.  And I wanted to keep my dignity.  Dignity preserved.  Mission accomplished.  But I still began to wonder whether some of this was my fault, if I had lost my mojo or something, or was somehow just not doing this correctly anymore.

Moving on.

Then there was Botboy.  Botboy used the word first.  After the first vodka shipment I’d sent him.  And because, at least in my experience, alcohol is a truth serum, I believed him.  But Botboy was as jaded as I am.  I don’t think he didn’t mean it… I don’t think he intended to come home, get his stuff, and leave.  I do wonder, sometimes, if he used the fact that I loved him to his advantage to procure supplies, snacks, etc.  Especially when he bragged to me much later about how he’d used other women for this or that.  Still, I think he did love me in the only way that he knew how or was capable of – the only way he’d ever been able to love anyone before. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have been able to give me what I was looking for, and looking back on it, I know that now. But at the end of the day, whether he meant it or not then is not the point.  The point is that I DID fall for him, I DID love him, and he SEVERELY hurt me when he left.  So much so that I told myself that, moving forward, never again would I say it first, never again would I repeat it unless the man said it to me while sober, and I had SEEN the reflection of his words in his actions.

It was a year after that before I considered dating anyone else– and that was Ormsby.

And so that’s where we were… I moved back to Kentucky, into Ormsby’s apartment.  And neither he, nor I, had ever used the word with each other before. I sometimes think he was as afraid of it as I was.  I can’t tell you how many times the word was on the tip of my tongue and I didn’t say it, not only out of fear of what might happen, but also out of stubbornness.  I had said I was not going to say it first, I meant it, and for once this was a rule I was absolutely not going to break.

Except I did.  In December, a week before Christmas, when I finally found my figurative balls, and just said it.

And apparently he’d known how I felt since July.  Even before I knew how I felt.

And with that information?  He’d done absolutely NOTHING.  I mean… nothing in that he didn’t use it against me.  He didn’t give me percentage comparisons to live up to.  He didn’t start using it only suddenly stop with no explanation, and best of all, he didn’t stand me up, break his promises, or make me wonder where I stood (much).  And even when I realized it (and I can’t even tell you when that was, exactly), I still didn’t say it.  Not in July.  Not in August when we started dating.  Not in September and October when he was in Florida for work.  Not even in November when we made it Facebook official and moved in together (yes, we do everything backward).

But when I said it, he said it back.

And that’s when the curse was broken.  Because I knew he meant it.  Not because of the way he said it, not because he was drunk (he wasn’t), but because of the things he’d done up to that point that illustrated it long before those words were ever uttered.  I didn’t have to doubt, I didn’t have to question it, I just knew it.  And whatever had happened in the past that made me wonder if all of this was just “me”, or if I was as unlovable as the Darren Hayes song I listened to over and over again during the 3.0 days, it didn’t matter anymore.  Because I knew it wasn’t true.

Attn: Botboy – Fifteen Days


You asked, over Christmas, what would happen after thirty days; if I would replace you.  I didn’t have an answer for you then, except to tell you that you would be gone.  I have one now.

I want you to understand something before your 30 days is over and before you leave:

I never set out to replace you.  I did not want to replace you.  I still don’t.

I did what I did because you disappeared, and because one of the last things you said to me before you disappeared was that I should see other people.  It was not my desire to do any of that.  If things had worked out differently, I’d have been perfectly happy to have stayed with you, exclusively, cooking your dinner and chatting about giant robots while we made the real, solid “attempt” that we’d planned for – an attempt that I still firmly believe would have worked, had you given it the chance.  That was, after all, what I thought we both had wanted for the entire time I’d known you.  But, things were what they were – by your choice, not mine.  You forced my hand.  I tried to heal, yes.  Because that’s what healthy people do.  But I never tried to replace you.

I think you know me well enough to know that, when I am committed, I do not cheat.  You were away for the entire length of time that we were “together” and I never once did anything to betray you.  Understand, then, that this time it is different.  There is no viable commitment.  I am a free agent.  As it stands now, you come into my life and leave it as you please, which is fine for what it is, but not a good enough display for me to warrant investing more time, let alone emotion, into something that is so very hot and cold depending on the day.  If you really wanted me, Botboy, you’d make an effort.  You’d turn more than 365 days of inconsequential verbiage into tangible, legitimate action – into follow-through.  Without that effort and some assurance that I’d get a return on my investment this time instead of the shit show I got last time, I can’t make promises to hold that spot open for you beyond the time frame I’m giving you now.  That isn’t fair to me.

The thirty days is a time frame.  Within that thirty days, I want to see you.  Within thirty days, I want to give you that number ten spot.

If you turn up, awesome.  At the very least, it’s the culmination of something that has been building for the better part of a year.  If you don’t, I won’t hold it for you anymore.  Will it still be here when you get back?  Possibly.  But also, perhaps not.  Will I still be available when you get back?  I can’t promise that either.  I want you, yes, but if you don’t want me back, or, if you do, you can’t show me that, then I can’t keep holding on to something that I cannot have.  Not because I am trying to replace you, please understand that, but because at this point, you have given me no reason to wait.  Waiting for something that may never materialize will get me absolutely nowhere.   What’s more, I’m not a fallback girl – I’m not the girl you run back to when all of your other options don’t pan out.

So you’ll make your decision.  Because it is entirely up to you.  It has always been entirely up to you.  That’s what free will is about.  And, whatever you decide, I will react accordingly.

As of tomorrow, 1/5/2014, you have fifteen days.


Pantalones Locos

To the Botboy – T-Minus 30 Days

Dear Botboy,

Due to your recent expression of interest, the number 10 slot is being reserved for you.  Reservation expires in 30 days, on January 20, 2014. Should you wish to take advantage of the reservation, you will need to contact me in advance and make plans.

Failure to keep those plans once made (work schedules excluded) will result in forfeiture of the reservation.  Exceptions also made for physical conditions that render either party temporarily unable to perform.  Rainchecks issued for exceptions made.  Rainchecks will extend the reservation for no more than seven days past the date of the issuance of the raincheck.

All previously discussed prerequisites and stipulations are still applicable and enforced; all supplies still provided onsite.

Should you wish to fulfill your reservation and, so to speak, put your money where your mouth is, please contact me as soon as possible.



It’s been a couple of months now since Botboy made his exit.  I’m doing okay… I’ve visited home again – which admittedly did not have the same effect this time as it did back in November – and I’ve gotten myself (mostly) back on track.  I’m still working on getting my shit together for the long haul, but it’s getting closer.  I can look back on all of this now without my head spinning.  That’s progress, I guess.

I can’t credit Botboy with much.  For all of the shipments I made, the toys I pulled my hair out over, the hours I spent up because he was, and the stress he put me through, I don’t have a lot – at least not materially – to show for it.  I guess my rewards came at the end.

Because I’m on a new path now… a path I can largely credit with his abrupt exit.  I’ve always been interested in the metaphysical.  I had a Ouija board when I was a kid (though I stopped playing with it when it started getting too creepy) and I’ve always had a somewhat keen fascination with ghosts and the paranormal.  In 2008, during the Buttface fiasco, I bought myself my first set of Tarot cards – I didn’t understand all the meanings then, but even when I looked up the interpretations, they seemed to work for me.  After Botboy took his leave, because I didn’t understand what had happened, because there was nowhere, really, to get those answers, I visited a psychic.

And when those predictions became a reality, astounded, I called the same psychic again and scheduled an appointment for a Saturday that has been almost a month ago.  I went… this time the reading was a little longer (I’d paid for more time) and it confirmed the things I already knew.  Some of the predictions were a little frightening – if they come to pass the way that the others did, I’ll be in big trouble, but I’m not so worried about those yet.  I got the peace I wanted, and I went on about my day.  Except that day was nothing anywhere NEAR normal.

Several hours after the psychic, I attended a Past Life Regression session that was given by a relaxation center here in Tampa.  It was free.  I figured, at best, it would be something funny to blog about.  Which, I guess, is what I’m doing now, but I didn’t think it would have the effect that it did.  I went into that room with three others.  A guy began the session – which was a hypnosis session – and I have never been hypnotized in my life… I didn’t even think it was possible.  Hell, even when I was out, I STILL doubted that I was under.  And had I not seen what I saw, I’d still doubt it.  But there were flashes.  I won’t say what they involved, but there were flashes, and I saw things, and then the voices that I’ve heard in the past (and have written about here) spoke to me louder than they have ever spoken before.  If you’re familiar with Lost, it was like the awakening flashes that they get during the last couple of episodes.

Finally these voices had faces.  I knew some of them.  Some of them I didn’t recognize.  But they weren’t just random voices in my head that were plaguing me with instructions that I didn’t understand.  I began to realize that the reason that I didn’t understand them, the reason that I’d been a “shit magnet” all these years, was because I HADN’T been listening.  I’d been floating through, taking their advice when it pleased me, ignoring it when I didn’t like what they had to say.  And all I wanted was just to see them again, to keep talking to them again.  I began to open my mind.  I began to hear them… softly at first, but once I began meditating regularly, once I began listening to them, I could really hear them.  They aren’t the demented ones that I thought they were… I think that’s me.  I think that’s what I become when I do NOT listen.

I’ve been on a journey.  I’ve been meditating regularly with groups – I’ve been exploring my own abilities, making them stronger.  I am still reading Tarot cards, but I’m doing so more seriously.  I bought a new Oracle deck to supplement those readings and so far the results have been amazing.  I can get the results I wanted, but now the voices help me interpret those.  I can predict text messages and phone calls again the way that I could when I was in high school.  I can predict numbers before they are read.  I’m growing, exponentially, and I’m happy with the progress I’m making.

During the reading I was told I was here to help people.  When I was on the other side, the voices told me to trust them, that they would give me a path.  I trusted them, I am following that path, and when they direct me to do something, I do it.  These messages come to me now when I meditate.  They come to me in other ways, but most strongly when I meditate.  I don’t always like them… some of them are hard to follow and the most recent one, the one to let go and to trust, was the hardest thing I have ever done.  But I did it… and I’ve been rewarded.  It seems they are right… when I do what they say, I am taken care of .

As I said, I’ve started down a new path.  I’m growing, exponentially, with this stuff.   I’m getting stronger.  I’m learning how to use it not only to help myself, but to help others which is, I’ve been told (by three different counselors/psychics/whatever as well as my own voices) what I’m here to do.  I’m working hard at not being the shit magnet that I was before and I’ll be registering soon to get a PhD in Metaphysics – partially to strengthen the things I already know, but also so that I can better use those things to serve that higher purpose.   And I’m using the Law of Attraction (more on that in another post) to help manifest the things that I want for myself – and as a nice side-benefit, I’m becoming more positive.  It works.  It has always worked (and I’m just now realizing that).

I guess, ultimately, I’ve realized that once upon a time I was very awake… before I got married, before things got stifled, I was awake and alive.  I could predict those phone calls, I knew things, and what’s more, because I knew them, because I was confident in them, I was making them happen.  I lost it.  I became a victim to my circumstances, and I just floated along aimlessly, doing what was easy because it was easy.  That ended with Botboy.  Yes… because of him, because of what he did, I was a victim of those circumstances, but the warning signs were there.  The premonitions were there.  I ignored them.  And that’s on me.

But on the other hand, had he not done what he did, I wouldn’t be awake again either.  I wouldn’t be doing this.  I am happy… genuinely happy with what I’ve found.  I don’t want to stop, and I don’t want to go to sleep again.  The premonitions are there… both about him, about me, about others.  I can keep walking because I know what I am doing, I know what I will be doing, and I know what I need to be doing to get there.  I laugh because one of the things he used to say to me, over and over in the mornings, when he wanted me to wake up was, “Awaken!”  And if I could talk to him now, I’d tell him that I have.  Moreso than I think he realized, but all of it because of him.  Whatever he was, whatever happened, whatever will happen, things have changed.  I’m not the same person that I was a “million billion” years ago.  I’m at peace, I’m happier, the voices are not angsty, my tarot and oracle cards are strong (I’ll be certified in them soon) and that PhD is just around the corner.

Botboy, I am awake!!

Housecleaning Take Deux, Part Trois: Myself

It’s funny.  I’ve spent the last couple of weeks writing my blogs well before the day they were due to be posted, knowing what I wanted them to say.  This week I procrastinated – partially because I’ve been busy, mostly because things have been changing at a rapid pace and I’m trying desperately to keep up.

Housecleaning is a funny business, especially when you are experiencing a period of transition.  Some things happen because you plan for them to happen.  Some things happen because you realize that something has to be done in order to get things moving.  And yet some other things happen because they have to happen – whether you want them to or not.  And this is the case with the Botboy.  He has effectively made his exit, both physically and virtually, from my life.  I can’t say that this was entirely unanticipated.  I half expected something of this caliber to happen when he came home, picked up his stuff, and became absent.  Physically, he is away for work again.  That much I know because of what he told me.  Virtually, he’s  deleted me from his Gchat list and made no contact before he left, despite his confirmation to the contrary.  As I’ve said, I am not surprised.  And because this began to fall apart in May, I’ve had over a month to deal with the emotional repercussions of most of it.  I’d even thought about deleting him from Gchat myself so that I didn’t have to keep looking at him and tearing myself apart over and over again about what was lost, but I didn’t have the strength to do it.  He did what I could not.  It is funny… even at the end of things, we were still on the same page.  At any rate, I accept that this is what needs to happen, at least for the time being, and I’ve let it go.  It is all I can do, the best I can do, for him and for me.  And so, knowing that, at least when sober, I was able to hold my head up and keep walking.

I walked to Gatsby.  It’s Gatsby that has been keeping me entertained through the majority of this – with the parties, and the dinners, and the silly movies, and the crazy board games and racquetball matches.  Thanks to Gatsby, I started doing the things I’d stopped doing when Botboy was a part of my life – drinking, smoking, staying up until all hours having a good time.  I was eating out more, skimping on the healthy eating habits I’d adopted, too, in order to get myself prepared for Botboy’s arrival.  After all, Botboy wasn’t here.  I missed him, but he wasn’t here.  And Gatsby was FUN.  It was always a party there, always a reason to get drunk, to go swimming, to wander around downtown half conscious.  The alcohol made the voices shut up for awhile so I could just be myself.  And I could forget, at least most of the time, the pain of the last month.

And that’s what it was all about, anyway.  Forgetting.  Forgetting that he’d hurt me, forgetting that he’d made all of these promises and then, in one fell swoop, had broken them all – and continued to break even the new ones.  I could forget that he was ever NOT the selfish asshole he’d become since his return to the States and I could tell myself I’d moved on.  I could tell myself that – but then I’d realize I was lying.  Because in that state, somewhere halfway between sober and drunk, the pain would come and I’d lose myself.  I’d begin to think, to cry, to get angry.  I’d drink more because it was the one thing he didn’t want me to do – I’d drink to lash out at him.  I’d smoke my eCig because I just didn’t care anymore.  I’d go downtown and have a hookah because he’d told me he stopped that too.  I’d do all of these things to spite him.  He wasn’t here… what did it matter anymore?

But then, I guess, the carnival ride stopped.  Gatsby began to remind me, in his drunkenness, why we’d broken up to begin with.  If I cried over Botboy, Gatsby, rather than consoling me, would tell me he was worthless, that I was an idiot for caring, that I should have listened to him to begin with and not gotten involved.  And I’d get angry – angry because I knew what Botboy could be when he wanted to be, angry because Gatsby had no right to talk about someone I cared for that much with that kind of attitude, and mostly because he was being rougher on me than my own father was being.  Where my father was just concerned that I was holding up alright, Gatsby was kicking me when I was down, and I had enough of it.  When hanging out with Gatsby became more drama-filled than fun, and when I began to realize that I was in the same downward spiral that I often got into, I realized that something had to change.

Since the world began to collapse around my ears, I’d wandered Tampa searching for answers.  Talking to my friends, listening to the voices in my head, talking to psychics, counselors, anything to try to get my head back on my shoulders, to find some answers, to make some sense out of what happened to me.  Everyone, it seems, had an opinion and, funnily, it was the counselor that predicted the complete break first.  It happened just a few days later.  The thing is, I also realized that in that month, the voices that were so very loud during this whole ordeal, since the beginning, since December, they’d changed.  When sober they’d tell me things once in awhile but most of what they said was convoluted.  If I was drinking, they’d stop talking altogether.  My dreams became stronger – even on sleeping medicine they would communicate with me.  And in some ways they were more trustworthy – I suppose, perhaps, because they didn’t have my own inclinations to argue with them.  But when drunk, those dreams became nightmares.  Horrible, horrible nightmares that were, by far, the worst I have ever had.

But in some ways, this search was good.  I got some answers.  But, more than that, in that search, I began to figure out a few things about myself.  Namely that I am not as crazy as I thought I was.  Hypnosis sessions with the counselors I’ve seen have yielded visions that are, perhaps, more vivid than many of my dreams and I’m beginning to understand that, whatever has happened, has happened for a reason.  I am here for a reason.  I think I understand what that reason is now, and so I’m beginning to adjust things so that I can meet that purpose.  It’s when I am taking these steps, when I am meeting with these counselors and with others that are like minded, that I am happiest these days.  Meditations bring me peace, they give me this light that I have never seen before, and I am learning to channel it so that it can help others.  Combined with those individuals, there is an energy unlike anything I have ever felt before.  The voices are loud again, but now, in those sessions, they have faces.  And their advice is solid.  My dreams are talking to me again – sometimes telling me what to do, sometimes just giving me pictures that keep me going when things seem to become very, very dark.

I thought, for awhile, that I had failed – especially when the purpose I felt I had seemed to vanish in front of me.  And I wondered… if one is put here for a specific purpose, and one fails to achieve that purpose, then what happens next?  But then, my friend Chuck asked me a question: do you feel like you failed?  The answer is no.  I don’t.  “You’d know it if you had,” he replied.  And he’s right.  The voices said that at the same time that he did.  I have not failed.  Things simply aren’t happening the way that I thought they would happen – because they are not supposed to happen that way.  The time is not right.  Time is a linear thing – it is something that man uses in attempt to harness something he cannot control.  I am not ready to achieve my purpose yet, I do not yet have the technology, but I am learning.  I am growing.  And I am becoming stronger.

I’ve stopped drinking and smoking again, but this time it is for me.  Because I know I cannot do the work I came here to do if I continue to poison myself.  This time I do it for my own benefit.  I felt differently today… like things are beginning again.  I do not know, not entirely anyway, what is coming.  I can’t predict everything because so much of life is left up to free will and the choices that we all make.  But I do know that the housecleaning is done.  I have the epiphany that I sought.  Things are beginning again, the canvas is blank but the paints are brighter than they ever were.  And what I paint on that canvas now is entirely up to me.

Housecleaning Take Deux, Part Deux – The Trifecta

They say that when you are dating, you usually best find someone to be with when you aren’t looking for anyone at all.  I never believed that before – with the invention of online dating, you can, if you choose, be presented with option after option and play the “numbers game” so to speak until you find someone acceptable.  It’s more about statistics than luck when you’re working with personals sites, and I’ve always found that I meet more people that way than I do in real life.  When your code is not to shit where you eat, and when you do not like the bar and club scene, or otherwise do much that would put you “out there”, online dating is really the only alternative.

That said, though, I am not looking.  If you read “Open Letter”, you know why and, for the time being, I am trying to put myself in order.  And so I have been throwing myself into work, into my writing, into some of my new projects, being with my friends and pursuing some new tactics to strengthen some of my other talents.  Focusing on “me” for awhile while I wait for Bot to get himself together.  It will make me better prepared to be who I need to be for whatever comes along.

And the funny thing is, all the times before when I wasn’t looking, no one materialized.  Considering I am waiting for someone for the time being, I assumed that this strategy would be sufficient to employ while I took a break.  It seems, this time, that I was wrong.

It started with work.  It seems, anymore, it always starts with work.  Part of my job is to acclimate new employees with the system that they are being hired to support or to develop.  And a couple of weeks ago, I was given two new employees to work with.  They were cool, these two kept me laughing through the majority of the day and made the orientation part of my job much easier.  One suggested taking a trip to Coral Castle which intrigued the more exploratory side of my personality.  I agreed to consider it, we exchanged phone numbers.  I didn’t think anything more about it.

I didn’t think anything about it, either, when he asked if I wanted to have dinner with him that Friday night.  I agreed to meet him… after all, the place we were going to was on my way and I had no reason not to.  He’d wanted to do more – a movie, perhaps, and some other things, but dinner was sufficient.  After all, I had other plans and I didn’t know him very well.  So I met him for dinner, with the full intention of paying for it my own meal, the way that I normally do.  And dinner was good… the food was fantastic, the conversation was kept light and unserious.  But when the meal was over a couple of hours later, he insisted on footing the bill.  I didn’t like feeling obligated, but there was not a whole lot that I could do beyond:

“You should know I do not shit where I eat.”

“Neither do I.  I need a job, and I am staying where I am.  At least until my desire to date you exceeds my desire to make money there.”

I was mortified when I left.  I’d been conned into a date.  I felt dirty – as if I were cheating, even though I knew I had done nothing at all.  This was not going to happen again, I assured myself.  I wasn’t at fault, here.  Nothing happened beyond the dinner and while I had enjoyed myself, the energy here was contradictory to my own.  As the events unfolded with The Groper and I got my office, I realized that now, with all of this swirling around me, I had to be even more careful.  I have not gone out with him anymore, and I won’t – partially because I do not want to deal with the work drama and mostly because he continues to try to date me.  He texts, I do not answer.  I cannot stop him from talking to me at work, but I keep things cordial and distant.  And when he enters my office, I am careful to stay on the other side of the room.  Appearances are important there, but even moreso, I do not like feeling obligated to someone I have no interest in.

And then there is Gatsby.  Called Gatsby because this is a man who has everything – everything but what he really wants.  We’d dated before.  The relationship had lasted for a little while, and then it had ended, ultimately, because things were too unstable to continue on as they were.  We remained friends afterward, however, and I got invited to go to a pool party at his condo complex one evening.  I showed up and, with some of his other friends, we had a party.  There was alcohol.  I drank… more than a little.

People began to leave, and still, I kept drinking, until it was just Gatsby and myself left behind.  He offered to let me have the spare room that evening and because I was in no condition to drive, I agreed.  We went for a walk that night – hit up last call at one of the bars downtown.

Alcohol, for me, is a truth serum.  It exaggerates the mood that I’m in and makes me introspective.  Downtown that night, drunk, I told Gatsby I needed to be alone for a moment and I walked away to perch on a concrete block in the park.  I sat there, looking up at the moon, thinking about all that had happened and I began to cry – partially because of what had happened with the guy at work, partially because I was sitting downtown, drunk, when I had made a decision to stop drinking, partially because all I wanted was The Botboy and it did not look as if I were going to be able to have him.  It was an awful feeling, and I hate to cry, and so, after shedding a tear or two, I rose and walked back to Gatsby who was waiting for me, awkwardly, on the sidewalk.  I would have been fine, really, had he not asked if something was wrong and I started up all over again.  He hugged me, walked me back to his house, and I went to bed in the spare room.  At five the next morning, I paid dearly for the alcohol consumption – I was very, very sick – and swore never to drink again.

Gatsby and I hung out more that week.  I felt guilty for crying on him like that, though he said it was okay, that he was glad to see that I was human, and the following weekend he told me that he thought he was falling for me again.  I didn’t know what to say.  We were friends.  I didn’t want to lose that.  But I knew it wouldn’t work, either.  There was too much baggage from before – his friends don’t like me, and while it would be a smart match – the package is there, after all, there would be too much climbing, too much repairing, and it would not be the way to begin a relationship.  I explained this to him.  I hurt him, though I tried desperately not to.

And anyway, in the case of both Gatsby and Work Guy, it would be hardly fair to start something when my heart still belongs to Botboy.  So clearly does it belong to him – enough so that I can uncharacteristically break down on the sidewalk in the middle of Downtown Tampa over it.  And it doesn’t make any sense – he’d been incommunicado again.  He was gone, or so I thought.

And then he wasn’t.  We went out.  We had a good time, he told me he wasn’t looking for anyone else, and, yet again, I decided to wait.  Because what else could I really do?  I cannot move forward – not in good conscience, with more than half of myself waiting for him to come back.  It would not be fair to whoever I chose to try to move forward with.

I promised to wait until the end of the summer.  Botboy and I make plans to see each other, he calls, he is like his old self again – lucid (for Botboy), funny, fun.  And then he disappears, no word of confirmation or acknowledgement that we had these conversations, we go from daily messages to sporadic communication again, barely a sentence.  I extend myself because he extends himself and then he runs away.

It is a vicious cycle.  Especially for someone who demands reliability.  I do, always, exactly what I say I’m going to do when I am going to do it.  I was brought up to be this way.  I demand it out of my friends.  Bot, it seems, may be incapable of being reliable.  It’s funny – he always was a few months ago.  Now?  I have a different Bot.  And yet he is still a part of this Trifecta.

He is the only one that matters, really, because he is the only one that I want.  Though wanting it, and waiting for it, is tiresome.  And he acknowledges that – as much as he can, as he asks why I want him despite all of his imperfections.  My answer?  I want him BECAUSE of his imperfections and because I know what he can be.  But I am forever worried that I will fuck it up, though I know that whatever is supposed to happen will happen and that when things do not go the way I want them to, it’s not due to my own lack of effort or my own unmaking.  For once, I am blameless.

While chasing all of these other hobbies, I saw the psychic again.  Because he was right about all of the other things the first time.  And afterward, I went to the island to think about it all.  I always have a choice.  That’s the beauty of free will, readings tell you what will happen if you stay the course, but you always have the option to move right or left.  I know what my choice is.  I began it in December.   I made it again, unconsciously, a couple of weeks ago, when I started the Housecleaning process and began to ward off the interest from the other admirers.  I redoubled that decision yesterday – I know what the consequences will be, and I accept them.

I clean house because it is not fair to me or to the others to keep them around when nothing can happen.  If I can be friends with them with nothing more expected, great.  If I cannot, then they have to go.  I wait for the Bot because this is not done.  No one believes that it’s done… not my friends, not my counselors, not my own inner voices.  It’s all about free will, and not just mine but his too – the will to wait, the will to walk, the will to work on things, the will to make them happen, the will to remember where we were and why we chose this.

Things are not as settled here as I would like, but at least there are no interferences.  The Bot may not here completely right now, and I am not with him the way I would like to be.  But I wait anyway, because I believe I am supposed to.  And while I wait, I work on the final piece of this Housecleaning project:


To be Continued.

Housecleaning Take Deux, Part Un – The Groper

I had the closest thing to a nervous breakdown about a week ago that I have had since 1999.  Life doesn’t shit on me much… but when it does, man, it seems to have diarrhea.  The watery, runny kind that seems to never end, with a green color and a putrid odor.  May was not a good month for me.  And that’s ironic, because it was supposed to be the best month.  It was the month I’d been looking forward to all year – or at least since the first extension in January.  But it got off to a rough start, as I’m sure you can see by reading back over the last few posts.  And it seems like it kept going.

Granted, some of that was my fault.  I made the mistake of assuming that things were clearer than they were, that problems were solved.   My enthusiasm for what was coming was enough to make me… er… overlook the fact that maybe things weren’t as great as I thought they were.  I mean, how could they not be?  I’d gotten a new car, my boyfriend was coming home, things were going well enough at my job – and the parts that weren’t I thought I had fixed.  They weren’t perfect, but even still, Botboy was coming home and things wouldn’t matter so much when he did.

But, of course, even the best laid plans fall through sometimes.  And it seems, sometimes, that once things start going south, they just stay that way… at least until I jump in and start to take control of them.  It’s like the Housecleaning I did after 3.0.  But this time there was more of it… perhaps it was just an indication that I didn’t take care of it as well as I thought the first time.  More than probably it was just an explosion of shit that came out all at once.  No matter what it was, though, it had to be taken care of.  And it needed to be done before June started.  I wasn’t going into another month with this fallout hanging over my head.

You may remember, a few posts back, about the guy at my work that was harassing me.  We’ll call him “The Groper” – Botboy gave him that name, I like it, it’s appropriate, considering he DID grope me on the office premises.  And we’d had exchanges such as this via text, during work hours:

This took place after another work dude had dropped him off at the airport:

Groper:  Awe, I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye.

Me:  That would have been awkward

Groper:  Lol.  How so?

Me:  You left from work, yes?  Even if I’d not been responsive, people would have talked and I would be sitting here, by myself, dealing with the fallout.

Groper:  LMAO that would have been EPIC!!!  …and you would’ve been responsive!

Me:  …I would not be so confident, sir.


This had been going on for awhile.  I was steamed… he knew I was in a relationship, he could not let it go, even after I posted “Noli Me Tangere, Caesaris Sum,” this continued and so I stopped talking to him almost completely.  I deleted him off of Facebook.  It was then that I received this:

Groper:  So I was looking for you on Facebook yesterday and I realize that you took me off so now that I know that there is definitely something wrong.  So I figured one of three things has happened:  1.  You got offended by what I said on Friday while I was at the airport.  2.  You told (Botboy) what I said and he became upset and told you not to associate with me.  3.  The one guy I thought I could trust with how I was feeling about you just shitted on me.  If it was either 1 or 2, I apologize.  If it was 3 then I hope you’d let me know know so I don’t trust this asshole ever again.

Now, yes, I’d told Botboy.  There had been death threats.  Botboy was not happy.  I’d also gotten offended.  And that’s why I’d deleted him from Facebook.  Between the groping and the lines that were getting crossed, I needed to create some distance.  But this… he was TELLING people at WORK.  That crossed the line even further.  And so, when he got back, I took him outside and I asked him who he told.  He told me.  I was livid, I told him that didn’t he understand that that one guy was going to talk to the others?  He said he hadn’t thought about that, apologized again, I thought it was done.  I wasn’t talking to him much after that, staying in my corner for the most part, waiting patiently for Botboy to come home – not to kill the guy, but just to prove to all of the other horny assholes in the building that this man was NOT a figment of my imagination.

Things were quiet.  Work had gotten back into its usual mode.  Things were almost normal… people were still looking at me funny, but that was nothing new.  It got a little worse once word got around that Botboy had done what he did.  But still, no one said much to me.  And then, as that part of the world collapsed, the work world did too.  Groper, it seems, had reached an entirely new low.  Pissed that I’d rejected him, I can only guess, anyway, he began to spread rumors himself.  People I had known maybe a total of two days were coming to me, repeating rumors, things that he’d said, and a little bit of homework put the origination point back at the Groper.

I’d had enough.  I was in the middle of the drama… Botboy had left me high and dry.  I’d been the victim of drama from several unwanted advances made by other people (that’s next week’s post).  My aunt was not feeling well – she had pneumonia, pretty serious pneumonia and I was 1000 miles away from all of that, unable to do anything.  I was trying to heal, I was trying to get my life situated.  And then I find out that work was no longer safe for me either?

My first inclination, really the right inclination, was to sit in my corner and mull it over.  I still had the text messages.  I’d kept them, not sure what to do with them, knowing that I could turn them in if I needed to.  I’d sat on them all this time, not sure if I wanted to.  The minute I started rocking the boat, I knew that the world there would change… at least for me.  Did I want that?  As long as things stayed reasonably under the radar, I could handle it.  But this time… this time it was too much.  Here were these new people, people I was trying to train, spouting things that people I didn’t even associate were saying about me… it had to be stopped.

It all had to stop, really… all this drama… and I could start here.  It was tangible.  I could fix this.  I could find the proper channels.  And so, I went to the one person there that was corporate.  A female (thankfully) who listened to what I had to say and said she’d talk to my supervisor.  I barely slept the next night.  I didn’t know what they would do.  I’d asked them to keep it confidential.  It’s a small company… the minute someone starts to talk, everyone knows about it.  And the informants were new – they were worried about being fired.  I was worried, I was afraid I’d get fired (even though there is a no-retaliation policy).  I was worried things would not be the same.

And I was right.  I came into work the next morning to find the woman I’d talked to and my manager in a meeting.  And I knew, the way I know things, that it was about what I’d said.  I got called into the office later in the day,  I read the texts to my boss.  He proposed a change.  They wouldn’t do anything to The Groper.  They couldn’t.  Unless I filed paperwork, which would launch an “official” investigation (what I didn’t want), he was safe.  He wouldn’t even be written up.  But, they proposed to give me an office so I could get out of the general population.  It was what I wanted.  I could go in there, close the door, be out of everyone’s way.  And if someone got out of line again, I could just go to them immediately and it would be taken care of.  It was a suitable solution.  I took it.

Last week, I got to move in.  I sit in there, headphones on, door closed.  There is no noise… I no longer want to kill anyone during PMS week.  I still want to rip The Groper’s head off when I see him strutting around the office like he’s king of the world (he doesn’t talk to me anymore at all… I can only assume that someone blabbed that I was talking myself – and that’s fine).  But I know that Karma will have her day eventually.  And in the meantime, I’m in that little room where the air conditioning doesn’t blow down on me all day like it did before, where no one can hear what I’m listening to when I want my music to be loud, and where, most importantly, no one can harass me anymore unless I leave that little room –which I don’t do very often.

I’ve been waiting for this since I started working there.  I have it.  Housecleaning Part I complete.

Onward to The Trifecta.


(To Be Continued)

An Open Letter to the “D”.


There never seems to be enough time to say what I need to say and when I do it always comes out wrong.  So I’m writing it here, knowing (from your quote last Friday) that you do, at least, sometimes still read the blog.  Maybe you’ll see this.  Maybe you won’t.  I think I prefer it that way.

I do not fully understand what happened in those days before your homecoming.  I know that whatever happened is not my fault, and that it is a product of events that transpired long before you walked into my life.  I know that whatever battles you still fight as a result of those things are yours to contend with and that there is absolutely nothing that I can do, save for what I am already doing, to make that any easier for you.  I cannot fight for you, I cannot help you unless you want me to.  I did not reach out because I did not know whether you would want me to.  I do not want to smother you.  I do not want to impede what you have to do in order to allow yourself to heal.

I wanted so much to join you, but because you do not seem to want me to, I left you alone.  Maybe that wasn’t the best tactic.  And that’s why I reached out and invited you to do something last Friday.  And it’s why on Friday I asked you to come watch those Dexter episodes and have dinner on Monday.  But I can only extend myself so much.  You don’t have to meet me halfway right now, but I do need you to meet me at least part of the way.

I cannot fix what is broken.  It’s not my fight.  But I can be here for you.  The way I have always been.  You are silent now, where you used to talk to me every day.  I miss you.  I miss what we had.  But I understand that this is the way it has to be.  You have to fix yourself.  I get that.  And we’ll take it slowly while you do.

I do not pretend to be the expert on everything.  But I do know what love is.  I know that love does not try to hurt anyone.  Love cannot hurt anyone.   It is not angry.  Someone that truly loved you would let you go.  Someone that truly loved you would, at least, let you be happy.  They would want that for you.  And they would not continually come back to haunt you, to torture you, to play games of emotional warfare.  I have never done that with you, or with anyone else, and I am not going to.  Love doesn’t hurt people.  People hurt people.  We both know who I am talking about here, and I want you to think about this:

After a weekend on a binge, you decided to stop drinking.  I told you then that I wanted you to be whole, and I told you I wanted all of you.  I meant it then.  I’m saying that again now.  I do want you to be whole.  You deserve to be whole, in every essence of the word.  But more than that, I want you to be happy.  Out of all of the people I have ever known, you deserve that the most.  I believed that I could make you happy.  I still believe that I can make you happy.  But you have to be ready to let yourself be happy.  I think you are getting there.

You aren’t looking for anyone else, you said.  I am not either.  And the ones that show up, I simply do not want.  There were two others.  One was from my past – and while it would have been easy to run back to that, I knew (and know even better now) that after having what I’ve had with you, I could not go back to someone who does not appreciate me for who I really am.  I could not be with someone who tries to change me.  The other is new.  He’s nice enough, but I can think of a hundred reasons why I do not want to be with him either.   I did another housecleaning last week, like the one I did when you and I met.  And with all of the other garbage, I threw those two out as well.  One went easily.  The other may fight a little… but in the end he will realize that there’s no chance.  I simply am not interested.

Because I meant what I said… I don’t want to see anyone else.   I know what I want, I want you, I want the D******.  I have never laughed so much or so hard with anyone else the way that I do when we are together (and even when we’re not).  I have never felt so comfortable with another human being so quickly in my life.  I told you on Friday that I believed that we could have done this, that it would have been easy.  I still believe that.  There is something here.  I know it.  So do you, I can tell.

I told you, when things began to fall apart, that I am here.  I meant that.  I am right here.  I am caring for your things as they arrive with the same dedication that I employed when you were away (though those two boxes you sent from before have still not gotten here).  My feelings for you have not changed.  And I am holding on, for the time being, because optimism, and my voices, tell me that I should.

You have not asked me to wait.  You have not told me to move forward, either.  You have only said, dejectedly almost, that you knew I would see others before telling me you weren’t looking for anyone else.

I do not know what to do.  But I remember, in those situations when I would ask you, you would always tell me to “do what feels right.”  It does not feel right to move on.  I do not want to move on.  And so, for the time being, I am waiting.  At least for awhile.  Partially because right now, with your boot-prints so fresh in my memory, I am not fit for anyone else.  But mostly because I believe in us, and moreso, I believe in you.

If you want me, though, I need you to act like it.  That does not mean I need you to run over here right this minute, but, you know as well as I do, the phone works both ways.  The Gchat works both ways.  I am waiting because I know what you CAN be, I had it for five months despite the massive distance, and I saw it for a few hours on Friday.  I believe that it is still there, even if you are afraid of it.

Truth be told, I, too, am afraid of it.  I am afraid of you.  I am afraid of someone who can possess me so completely that I am spoiled for anyone else.  But while I am afraid, I am also mesmerized.  For once in my life I am not looking over the fence.  I am in my own backyard, and while the grass may be dry and brittle right now, I have faith that it could be green again if we want it to be.  It’s the Law of Attraction, the “fake it till you make it” concept.  I believe that it can work, and I hope to science that I am not wrong.  I’m kind of in a vulnerable spot here.

Because things are so up in the air right now with my aunt, I canceled my vacation.  Unless something with her changes, I will be here before you leave.  I would like to see you before you go.  I would like to know, for certain, that there is something, however small, worth waiting for.  But I cannot reach out anymore, I have done that enough.  I will carry you, I will hold your hand, I will do whatever you need me to do, but I cannot do all the work.  I want you.  But I need you to want me back.  And I need you to show me that you do.  I have reached out twice.  Now it is your turn.

And so, unless you tell me otherwise, at least for the summer, I am here.  Skype is online again.  My phone is working.  Gchat is always available.  And when you are in town, if you want me, you can find me.  For the summer, these avenues are yours.  For the summer, I am waiting, occupying my time with my projects, taking it easy, trying to heal in my own way.

Once the summer is over, I’ll reevaluate.