*warning... extremely hungover and sleep deprived right now. You may want to skip over this entry, just as I wish I were someone else right now*
**So shit, grammar phreaks, please ignore spelling/grammar on this one. and whoever let me drink this much last night is seriously going to hell**
Ok, I'm sad.
Not depressed. I'll get over it, eventually we all do I know, but still just really sad. The end is near for Dr. Egypt and me. We both know it. We just don't want to face it.
Or, most likely, I just don't want to face it. Truth. That's it. I know myself.
He has an extremely fulfilling/stressed life. Career, children (no, no wife... divorced... sheesh, thought you knew me by now) Lots of things going on to prepare for his move and new job. He's beyond busy, and rarely can make plans.
Oh yeah, dating a doctor is so glamorous. Not! I adore him, but between him being on call, Zoe, work.... well, we don't get to see each other that often. I know thoughts of me must certainly cross his mind, but between ventricles, studying and uhauls they have to be fleeting.
So, when it's over between us. That just gives him more time and more energy to focus. Focus on other things. Not *pity sob for myself* me.
Me. Well, my career is not a career. It's a paycheck. It's food, rent, clothes, and dental for my child. I'm fucked without it, but it's not even close to being fulfilling. We (me and my asst. editor/internet exploring cohort, Lara) force ourselves to have fun, otherwise I'd not be surprised to find someone had died at their desk and no one discovered them for weeks.
And I have Zoe, but as most single parents know, sometimes you just want to skip the mealus interruptus and the poopus-diaperus. You want to watch non-disney-barney-bobbuilder-sesamestreet-tv. You want to have *whispers* S-E-X. You need to have another (not co-worker) grownup around you sometimes to keep your sanity and revive your spirits. To fill you up a bit, as you have a child to take care of, and you need to have the energy, strength, and neverending patience to do it.
So, I think of him. A lot. Quite often. And I look forward to seeing him. I'm a grouch without him. And I fucking hate it.
Why do I hate it? Because now, after no attention/affection for three years, I'm so fucking greedy. I'm selfish. He's ruined me for other men. Great sex, charming man, lots of fun.
But that's .... it. And now, well now, that's really it.
From day one he said he never wanted to get married. Nothing serious. Just someone cool to be with... Like Jackie O and that Maurice diamond guy at the end ... a "companion."
Which has been perfect for me. Since my husband and I separated, I have had multiple marriage proposals [just got rid of one, not looking for another], and multiple bootie call proposals [um, no], but I've been looking for something in between. Someone to hang out with and have sex with (exclusively, cause otherwise...well that's just too gross sleeping with a manwhore). A friends with benefits kind of thing, but with someone that cares more deeply about you. And shows it.
Which...is...what...we...have. (Or, er now, had. Past tense. I need to start thinking about it in past tense.)
Because
Dr. Egypt is moving. To Pennsylvania. Or now, after last night, he may just go back to EGYPT!
Christ, Egypt. Fucking Egypt. Multiple usages of the fword. EGYPT!
I went over to his house last night. On three margaritas. *cue forboding music* And yet another line of mistakes in my long long line of, well fuck, you know mistakes.
I could handle PA. I was even getting used to the idea of him leaving. He said he'd call, email, still come visit once a month or so. Even that would be more of a social life than I had before. But EGYPT?
He's not burns. I won't visit (although that would be hellacool). He doesn't want a wife, so that's out (for me too). And it's too expensive to phone eachother, much less fly to see me.
So I find myself crushed. I hate myself for loving him so much. For thinking about him and getting my feelings hurt.
Hungover. Crushed. Sleep deprivation bordering on dangerous. I cried. I fucking cried last night.
He passed the hell out on me (as seriously sleep deprived doctors tend to do), and I took a shower at 3:30am and bawled my head off. We didn't even have sex. It was not the first time, but for some reason, this time it hurt my feelings. It felt like a sign. A sign of things that are soon to come.
Now, obviously, I'm kind of a drama queen. But I don't cry that often. And God forbid, never in front of a man!
Anyway, brain still not focusing, I am rambling and late picking up Zoe *whoops.* Must still have tequila in me.
So when he left this morning. I cried again. Very hard. That is until I logged in to choke this out and read a few of my Private Messages. Thanks for breaking me out of the crying jag.
And now, well, I'm still way hungover. Shell shocked. Self loathing (partially for drinking but mostly for loving.) And unfortunately, due to the aforementioned PMs, now am having frightening visuals of threesomes with Dick Cheney? Which is now making this hangover extremely nauseating.
But as said in an earlier posting, was just getting back to you.
I'm just sad. But now, well now I'm not quite as sad.
Because...
I'm headed off to get Zoe. Maybe to the Zoo to see Zoe's Zebras (yes, I told her they were hers).
*perks up*