04.20.04

Right off of the pleasure of seeing my one act produced, right into the slough of crap. Yep. Got the big ol' "It's not you it's me," speech last evening. What can I say to that? The worst thing is that I believe it. Or I want to believe it so much. I'm grasping at straws and am probably delusional. Who wouldn't?

Then again, if I'm so great, why the fuck am I so goddamned tragic at relationships/involvments/whatever the hell you want to call it? This isn't the first "It's not you it's me," that I've gotten.

To be fair, after mis-communication and a cell phone message that I never got, the BadMan called me last evening. We met and spoke face to face. He told me what was up. I've got to admire his integrity. That's a personality trait that I find attractive. That's too damn bad for me, isn't it? Because nothing's going to happen.

Maybe that's my secret super power; I help men coalesce their feelings-they don't know what they want when we meet, but soon they do know that they don't want to be around me.

Maybe it's the writing muse reminding me who's boss. I forgot that she's a jealous, jealous creature and will tolerate no other worship except for hers.

Stupid, stupid, stupid me. Time to put the crocodiles back in the moat, the archers on the wall and the plate armour back on.

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