Homaigawd. The weather recently here on our little island has been so erratic. And by erratic I actually mean fucking warm. And humid. But mostly hot.
These days I shower at least three times a day with the faucet trained on “cold”. Which is anything but. I just came out of the shower with my shirt rolled up to just below my boobies (to retain some form of decency) and the fan trained directly at me but I still feel like I’m wearing three sweaters in a sauna.
Speaking of clothes, I’ve always prided myself on owning nice ones. And I try not to repeat any set of clothings (if possible at all but realistically say…. Six months?), work clothes excluded. This especially happens when I’m out with someone of interest. I.e. A person I’m into or such.
Of late (like the last two years kind of late), I’ve tried not to wear a certain article of clothing more than twice when out with X, because I consciously want to show him the best of me. Also because I’m very vain. So imagine my horror when this good man tells me that he doesn’t remember what I wear at all, other than them clothes fitting me well. What. The. Fuckity. Fuck.
With that revelation, I felt like I’ve been hit by a truck. Then said truck reverses and runs over me again. Hello?!?! I’m surprised it came from him. I mean, he’s an artist! Isn’t he supposed to be different from other men and be more aware of and sensitive to his surroundings or to beauty for that matter (shameless moment alert)?!?!
Okayyyy I get it now. First, I must be not beautiful to him (please excuse me while I go throw a tantrum in a corner and wail). Second, he’s most probably just like any other man *rolls eyes*. Third…. He’s very likely not into me one bit. *picks up pieces of my broken heart*
Ok. Fine. Next time I’ll just throw on some rags. That is if he ever emerges from hibernation mode. He is now rushing for submission which is happening in about two weeks. I think. I’ve only saw him twice since he submitted his essay and I’m no longer of use to him. And he has also recently decided that he will no longer waste any time whatsapping me. Or anyone for that matter. All lies I think.
So upsetting. He says conversation should be done face to face. I totally agree. But considering our meetings are so sporadic, how am I supposed to cram weeks and months worth of things to tell him into hours? I hate to admit this but I miss him.
Nopes. My pride triumphs everything so I won’t tell him. And he will only just change the subject anyway. Silly old cow (me). Can’t you (I) see what all this means?
*sulks and kicks a stone away* Let me stew in this revelation and this stupid heat and humidity.