Well that was a weekend from hell.
And… trust me, I know: I have no one to blame but myself.
I don’t know what got into me this weekend, especially yesterday. I spent most of yesterday and part of today crying and depressed.
The big, ugly cry, too.
I am my own worse enemy.
For the past two months Mr. R. and I have pretty much been inseparable. By distance, sure – but if there is technology, we are connected.
We talk on the phone, by messenger. As often as we can.
I’ll say it – we had mind-blowing sex. In his words, ‘the best of his life’.
We enjoyed each other’s company. We talked, we ate. We walked.
And when together last week? It was arm in arm.
We slept together. All night. We cuddled at 5 am.
We got ready for work together. We shared breakfast together.
We kissed each other goodbye.
And two minutes later, before I was even out of the hotel parking lot, he had texted me xoxox.
On his way out-of-town, he stopped by to have lunch with me at work.
He asked me to be his ‘lover’. To be honest, I don’t even know what that means at this point.
He just spent the weekend with his …. ‘friend’. (I honestly don’t know what to call her. His girlfriend? His other lover? The woman he has been seeing for almost two years, whom he knows he needs to end things with?)
While I was home. Alone.
Insane with jealousy.
What’s wrong with me? I let things with Mr. R go way too far.
A friend told me that ‘guys are slow’.
Really? How much slower can it get?
How can he tell me he had the best sex of his life with me and then still be spending the weekend with her?
I repeat: what’s wrong with me?