Put Down The Fork

....because you know that what ails you is not going to be better and likely possibly worse if you think that a slice of birthday cake at 10am is going to make the whole he's really not into you thing, really sink in, the really part, like really, for sure, eh, you know, you REALLY know he's not ever going to call, ever remember your birthday, your favorite flower (peony), your favorite colour (pink), your favorite author (Rushdie), favorite movie... (we need to leave somethings off the interwebs)...and so on and so forth. I think I really realized this week that it all is in the was, this all was, a definite for sure, we just box the remnant emotions, pack up those straggling memories, and wishes and trade the shelved red stilettos for that box, and put it up on the shelf with the ex-fiance, the other ex's and know that they can keep each other company up there. In the end it is what it is and nothing I could have or not said would have changed that when it came down to all of it in the end, to OM I occupied the position that many women do until we're moved over into the next category (get to know her), I was just my exterior, and maybe a small amount of interior, just enough to minimize the guilt of "befriending" a woman so you could stare at her boobs and hug her a little to long in the hopes of feeling something... because in the end even in his own words I was little more than the fantasy he had formed and while I guess I should be happy about it, given that we apparently value that aspect of imagination, I just find it frustrating...

Hmmm, cake...