I just spent two hours writing this blog on my phone, not an easy matter, and when I tried to copy and save it I managed to cut it instead, losing almost all I had written. I, who have lost untold masterpieces to the blasted delete, cut, or screw you key, did it again.
Not that you shouldn't be eternally grateful, it was a pity soaked moan about how he done me wrong, and I still tried to save the relationship, even though, prior to the offending emails I had already decided that he was a no-hoper.
And here I found the last remnant!!! But it is the relevant part...
...that it was very obvious that he certainly did not have the combination of attributes that I want in a man with whom I have a relationship, namely that we share almost everything except work and our respective children, and that in fact, his freakishness, while great for a night, was in fact, too much, far too much for real life. I knew all of this and I decided to try to rescue what little we had, upset myself thoroughly by exposing myself to his distress about his knee, that he has neatly displaced into righteous indignation with my alleged self absorbed behavior. And I'm still upset about it, hence the catharsis in this blog.
Why are the meanings of my feelings apparently inaccessible to me, even though I can clearly articulate them? Why can I describe how I feel, and even identify how I feel, and yet act directly against my own misgivings and better judgment to waste time on this jackass? And actually care that he might feel illwill toward me. Why can't I have feelings, name them, listen to them and then act in my own self-interest? Why, why, why?
It's a conundrum.
About Anne Lynn
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