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The End of the Final Round

May 26, 2014

As planned, the family BBQ was fun, and Round One, who I should now call the Final Round, got some more practice driving. We spent some time at the most interesting playground I’ve ever  played on, with swings that had shocks on them, a rope jungle gym, and these cool spinning seats that rotated so quickly that the spinning made me nauseated.

I ate a ton of cake and other food which I later threw up (no, this post isn’t going to end well), brought home an assortment of my recently deceased uncle’s personal effects,  and about 60 pounds of mushroom manure for my yard. Sure, I could have brought home leftovers, but a ginormous bag of shit and a pile of a dead someone’s belongings are always a better use of trunk space.

Round One and I are no longer dating. He’s still in love with his ex, which I already knew, and I’m…just not worth the effort it would take to love me as a romantic partner.

Fuck you for wiping away my tears, Round One. Fuck you for my letting you see me cry. I wish I could be the Tin Man. There is no sense in trying to connect with humanity any longer.

I offer nothing more to anyone than a bit of kindness and generosity at best, and my best isn’t so hot when we are being perfectly honest.

Cut off the pain at the source: I do not require friendship. I do not require love. I cannot maintain either successfully, so it’s time to come to terms with it.

Round One, the First and the Final, the alpha and omega of my online dating, misrepresented the truth between us, when he agreed yesterday that we were casually dating.

“I care about your feelings, Twig. I legit care about you. If I reciprocate you’re feelings toward me, I will hurt you. I’m not oblivious to how you feel, but I’m still in love with my ex and would fight anyone and anything to have that relationship back. I know it isn’t going to happen, but I’m still in fight mode. And I don’t want to hurt you.” He said all of  this softly and sincerely.

I’m already hurting, you jackwagon. Why do you think I’m crying? “I would help you fight for your ex,” I whispered.

If not for my family and animals, I’d kill myself… but I have a a responsibility to both. This isn’t about Round One, exactly, as much as it is about being a useless fuck who isn’t worth anything.  Tonight, I’m going to dream about death.

No, this is not some prelude to a shooting spree (my heart goes out too those affected by such violence) nor is this a suicide note.  I’m just disappointed in my own waste of flesh.

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