Futile.

I feel like I must keep writing as there is so much I want to say to Andy. About my day. About observations. About life. About the food I ate. About how loving Gaia's been lately, even asking for belly kisses when I get home, her little black furry body writhing about on my bed simply desperate for belly kisses from mommmy. As I wrote that, she lept on my lap, and oh, how she looks at me with pure love.

I miss lighthearted Andy, who even though since day one he's freaked out about the intensity of what's gone on between us, was full of adoration and certainty that I was to be his lady. "I want to spend as much time with you as possible." "I want you all to myself."

The latter when I was combatting residual feelings for The Mexican Who Don't Want Me and continued, probably eternal love/in love for the lad who has been making my life nothing but complicated since April 2008. I didn't feel it was unfair, I knew I was dealing with it and I knew they had and have no influence on my feelings for Andy, but his particular ghost, having throwing him into a tailspinspinspin, well, his love's been reawakened and confusion emotion bears down hard. He thinks it's unfair to deal with this and be with me, or he feels he needs to work it out by himself. And I fucking GET IT. Exes are god damn hurricanes and they don't give two shits about the new relationship. I wonder if I'm the only lady who thinks about that; if someone is dating someone, I don't fuck with that, no matter the circumstances. NEVER. My feelings take a back seat. My needs are put on hold. I know if it's meant to work, it will, when there aren't brain and heart exploding complications afoot. And when it's from the other direction, and I know someone has feelings for me, or I want to pay attention to someone while I'm in a relationship, I continue the situation I am in to its logical end and I put the other feelings away as much as I can. I don't try to fuck myself or anyone else up in the scenario, and it's probably because I'm so often in the position I am in right now.

I need to ramble and ramble because my brain is running at high speed with all these thoughts and my fingers have a case of sober TMT and I've already sent an email today to him on the topic of how he can combat panic attacks, and I promised I'd leave him be this weekend and I know there is no try, only do (thanks, Yoda), so I'm just muscling through all these urges and sating them by writing these meandering blogs. Thanks be to Jesus that I think there are only about four people who are reading them regularly.

I miss him. I hate this current him, whiny, sweeping dramatics, flailing gestures, and it looks like he's having an aneurysm when he tells me he loves me. Pull it together man, none of this is anywhere near as big a deal as you're making it, the "what if" thought process is bullshit and will only make you crazy. You have me. Enjoy me. It'll work out or it won't.

Pleas into the ether, he doesn't read this. Quaintly, he doesn't even have a computer right now.

Honestly, and I feel like somehow I should whisper this in text form (smaller font?): I don't think it's going to work. Not for me and him, not for she and him. Not for any of us.

Oh, I've Been Bad.

Real bad. I'm not happy about it. Too much liquor, too many boys. Nothing solid to drag home with me, just misses, swing batta batta, ouch, FAIL. I fell for one of you lads, fell pretty hard. But he doesn't want me. I fell for another more than a year ago, and he wants me, but he loathes me, and he loves me, and he is reactionary and unkind; he is too much trouble.

And what's with the Mexicans?
I don't want the Indie Rock Hipster Revolutionary Mexican.

I don't want Flakey Fucker Artist Mexican (though I did initially feel quite warmly toward him after he lured me in post-spending an hour pretending he was gay, graphically hitting on my friend Joe only to follow it up with the statement, "You know I'm not gay, right? I think you're gorgeous and I want to take you out sometime." Turns out one great date was all he could handle and after two flake-dates I told him he could funk off.)

I do want thick, hairy, sexy, masculine, truck driving, smart, sweet and sensitive in private, total obnoxious douchebag in public, wife beater wearing, tattooed, music obsessed, hip hop loving, slight southern drawl having, intimate, intense eye contact in the sack giving Mexican. But, I done telled you already; he don't want me.

With the way I've been acting, I wouldn't want me neither. I've been bad. Impulse control with that latter one is an extreme low. Put a little whiskey in me and TMT sets in. He's been a sweetheart, considering, but that only exacerbates the situation. If he'd just say, "Hey, little batshit girl, it just ain't gonna happen," then I'd give up the ghost and move on. Instead, he throws nuggets at me my brain holds onto. That he wants me to know him. That there's so much more inside him than anyone sees, implying he wishes for me to see those soft, squishy bits. But... I haven't spent any quality time with the lad in close to two months. AND YET I STILL CAN'T LET IT GO.

I've been bad. I need to shut the fuck up.

But damnit all, I just want someone to love. Who loves me.