He is carrying on about the business; about profit and loss…I am sitting here across the table from him, wondering why the Hell I even have anything, much less such a co-dependent kinda thing, with this fucking guy of all people.
His father just died, after a long and trying illness, he is sad and needy right now; yet, he only wants to talk business, as usual. Whatever dude…let me print out a P & L and we will comb the fucking books then, fine with me.
Men are so puzzling this way: so likened to a fucking light switch when it comes to using the experiences we have in life as a means of enriching our relationships with each other. They don’t know how to approach it, they just kill the whole operation; they can’t figure it out, they just tune it out; they can’t accurately compartmentalize it, they simply pretend it isn’t there.
Men seem just as happy (or so they like to believe) with stuffing it all down until they are no longer capable of stuffing. And then: Ka-Boom. Right?
This particular man has the capacity to say the right things and do them too, when it might suit his fancy for whatever reasons…but, those times hardly ever overlap with my own times of receptiveness these days, after all that’s passed between us. He has that shit-eating smile that can stop traffic from across the street; but he also happens to be one of the very last people I would ever lean on for any reason – as I have learned the lesson in his case that I will fall the fuck over, should I lean even the slightest bit on him. He always said he loved me because I am “built with so much substance” and am “so deep of a person”, and the reason he thinks he “loves” this about me is because he lacks these things completely. He sings such horseshit as “stability” and “security” (please note: he straight the fuck up tossed me like last week’s milk like two years ago and badly broke my heart), while sporting me on an arm that he can detach from his shoulder at any time via some hidden release mechanism. I am honest with him about how I can’t and never could again – trust him on the levels that matter (to me, at least)…he seems to care less. I don’t sleep with him any more either, and haven’t for almost two years, so he knows that I’m not just talking shit. Whatever, let’s file a tax voucher instead.