The Boy The Girl Forgot.

I wrote in the last post that my ex-girlfriend had said that I would forget all about her when I met someone else, and how I took that to mean she would forget all about me when she met someone.  Well, tonight I got wind of my erasure from her memory banks, and the consumation of her relationship with another fella.  A fella she first started chatting to when we were still seeing one another too.  Sadly the quote from Bob Marley I referenced previously isn’t working it’s magic anymore.

It’s half past one in the morning, and I am unable to sleep, and unable to rationalise my feelings.  I don’t feel good, that’s for sure.  And I am annoyed by my own inability to ‘man up’ and just ‘get over her’ as a few well-meaning folk have tried to encouraged me to do.

That’s easy for them to say.

Some say that love is “the highest form of energy”, but if this is so then it cannot be destroyed or diminished.  It can only be changed into another state.  And a tempestous energy like love can likely only be changed into something equally as tempestous.  Which is why it is said love often turns to hate, and vice versa.

Not that I am anywhere close to hate.

And I feel this way despite the fact she has met someone else.  I feel this way despite the fact that her love was always conditional and mine was not, and despite the likelihood that she is in the process of forgetting me.  Despite my suspicions that I was a stopgap til something better came along, and despite the fact I am a no good bum, undeserving of such wonder in my life, I FEEL this way.   Despite the fact there is no hope, I feel this way.  Despite the fact she even advised her family to remove me from their friends lists on Facebook, I feel this way.  And despite her desire to remain friends after ripping my guts out, I feel this way.

Maybe one day I shall generate some ill-feeling that will help me get over her.  Just not tonight.

Feelings, they are a pain in the fucking arse.

On Being An Arse, And A Bastard.

Yet again my intentions have been sidelined by my wandering and distracted mind.  I was full of the intention to write my tuppence worth on the whole Julian Assange saga, but then my own woman-related problems derailed my train  of thought.  And so, before I write anything of any substance on anything of real interest, I need to try and exorcise the demons that plague me.  Some hope!

I currently find myself in a rather depressing unrequited love triangle.  While I am forlornly trying to come to terms with the fact that the object of my desire does not feel the same way about me, I am also the object of another’s desire.  I am in the curious position of being both heartbreaker and heartbreakee.  And it is not a position I would recommend to anyone.  It is thoroughly unpleasant all round, let me tell you.

I had lunch today with the source of my romantic crucifixion.   It was quite possibly the least pleasant time I have ever had in her company in all the years I have known her.  Bless her, she tried her best to make me feel better, even buying me painkillers for my toothache, but nothing can soothe the dull ache of her loss.  She told me once that when I meet someone else I will forget her.  Which only makes me think that is what she thinks will happen when she meets someone else – I shall be forgotten.  Obviously, this thought does not cheer me much.  I am left with the certain knowledge that she is the one that got away, and I will live the rest of my life knowing that.  Knowing also, that the cause of the problems between us were largely of my  making, doesn’t help me feel better either.   You know, I used to have a half decent opinion of myself before this, now I am left thinking I’m a complete arse.

And I must be a complete arse.  Women like that do not fall from trees.   When I think of the opportunities I had, all I can do is shake my head sadly and say “John, you are an arse.”

And then there is the desire projected at me, from another lass.  But I am in no position to return it, my mind being elsewhere, with someone else.  Which likely makes me a bit of a bastard to her.

So I am an arse and a bastard.  Quite possibly the saddest and most despondent arse and bastard this side of Christendom.

Somebody cheer me up….