The gurl can't be fun without getting caught up

Saturday (Dec. 4, 2010)

9.50pm

His toothbrush sits presumptious and silent in an open clear space beside my desk.

I see it as I'm shutting the laptop down and I think to myself, How careless.

Really, is it just a coincidence, or are all men really so careless??

The last one at least had 3 years on him. (The last one also just attempted to call me tonight. I just stared at the phone wide-eyed and wondering, What is he thinking?? Another lonely night in Victoria perhaps??) The last one I could at least call my boyfriend at the time. I received the toothbrush phenomenon then as a happy sign of the progression of our relationship.

But this one! My gosh, what to even call this one? I've only known him for a month (if 'knowing' is what you even call it) and even so I don't know what he is - or what we are - is there even a "we"??

"Snuggin Buddy" - sure that's as close to a label as I can get on him. But the word "buddy" would imply that he is a frequent part of my life - and for the past month he has been - but to be quite honest, everytime he pops out of my bed the morning after I never know if that was the last time -nor do I know if I want it to be. (I think I need it to be.)

His stuff is strewn subtly all over the place: His pink scarf on the desk - which I've been reluctant to wear at his insistence but secretly did so when I knew he'd be away for the weekend. His chewed up gloves that I have stuffed in my purse that I constantly wear now out of sheer necessity. The fucking change he leaves by my bedside table every fucking time he's been over - it makes me feel like a whore.

I can smell him in my sheets.

I have been unsettled in the past month. Before then I thought I could walk with my head held high finally, my chest puffed with renewed and growing confidence. I felt Possibility reveal itself again. I felt fun. I felt alive. I felt free and that I had really just let go of alot of unnecessary longing and pain. 

And then that blasted night happened. First rookie mistake of my career: getting drunk and unleashing my prowling singledom at an industry party. Seriously? Jeez...

Regardless, it was supposed to be just that one night. As "magical" (drunkenly so) as it was, it really just had to be what it was, one drunken night. was there some unexplainable spark of a connection between us that one night? Shit, I'd really like to think so, but I think us being drunk highly negates the authenticity of that connective spark.

The next month that followed suit that night has been a messy confusion of liquor and laughter and drunken and sobering conversations, dancing, dinners, tea, confessions, embarrassing and revealing moments, awkward moments, comfortably silent moments, of talking, of touching, of texting, of kissing (oh the kissing!), of tenderness, of tension, of tears, of tattoos, of God and religion, of church and cynicism, of poetry and past loves...What a month.

And in the fun, fleeting, not-thinking-fun of it all, I've become completely undone.

And attached - somewhat. And opening. And raw and resistant. And feeling. And reminiscent. And remembering and comparing. And petrified of it all.

My Heart: What to do with you? I thought you were alright, at least coping. I thought you had become finally frivolous and free. And yet you followed me into my bed. I had not noticed that you had begun to reach out and wrap yourself around him when I would wrap my legs around him. I did not notice that you had begun to like the taste of him with every gaping kiss. Nor did I notice how you had let his fingers snatch at you as he would run them through my hair... Till it was all a little too late.

Dear Heart: you're learning a little bitch of a lesson now.