In Other Trainwrecks

You know how I always mention hanging out at the Hard Rock casino?

Anna Nicole Smith just dropped dead there. Creepy....

They haven't said how yet.

Drugs?

Cracks

When I read news stories like the current hot topic of the Orlando astronaut caught in a love triangle I cringe.

For just a moment, I understand the power of the emotions that snapped her sanity and led her to behave like a maniac.

Then I mentally pat myself of the back. Having heard her story, I can believe that I was pushed harder and worse than she was by jeff and I haven't gone serial. I have to imagine the strains of her career had a part, but it still makes me realize how much damage the nastiness of a broken heart can do to a person's mind.

I had TIVO'ed Superbowl just to watch the commercials. I've been watching it a few minutes a day (with my limited time) and today I reached the half-time show. Prince. Jeff's all-time favorite. When he broke into Purple Rain, the tears came.

He hurt me so much.

It's not the break-up. Let's face it, he may have pushed me to it, but it was still me who ended it. I called it. I announced the time of death.

It's how many lies he told me. It's what he took from me. It's how he handled it all. It's how he tortured me. It's how he told me that he never loved me and he only used me.

Those are the thoughts that drive me to pray for his gruesome death.

I have a thread more of sanity than the astronaut. I wouldn't do anything because I like to think I am better than that - sure I fantasize about causing him extreme harm - but I can't read a local news story about a fatal accident or a death without hoping with all of my heart for just a moment that he was the victim. The thought that scares me the most is that I often wonder if I will be able to find peace as long as he lives. The idea that if he was dead I would be free and feel like justice had been served.

I hate that I even have those thoughts, but they're there. Ugly, but real.

Wish him well? Not a fucking chance. With his history, his past and his continued behaviors (which I will keep quiet about but I am aware of) he is a threat to everyone he meets and I can't help thinking it's akin to OJ Simpson walking free. The damage he does to people that put trust in him is huge. Knowing him well I can honestly and objectively tell you that every person that has ever placed a degree of trust in him has been hurt - either financially or emotionally.

Moving on.

I'm still feeling the stress. The pressure on me is intense. I'm exhausted 24-7 and I am dying inside because my entire existence is about rush, rush, rush to work, work, work. I can't cut back my hours or take a break because even one break could mean my move gets delayed and part of the pressure on me is the pressure of not having my own space.

I know I have bitched about my living conditions before but you have to understand they're really bad.

I share my childhood bedroom with Taylor. It's tiny and with the few pieces of furniture and my work desk I have in it - it's so cramped and crowded that it's like living in a box filled with junk. There's no space to put things, so most of our clothes and belongings are in small piles on the floor.

My stepfather is an alcoholic recluse. He smokes about 3 packs a day. I wake up feeling like I can't breathe. He doesn't cook and doesn't own any pots or pans so I can't cook either. Jeff has my cookware.

The bathroom is in disrepair. The shower leaks so badly we have to rush through a 2 minute shower at low pressure. The bedroom door doesn't properly close and the large window faces a street and the blinds are thin, bent and broken so Taylor and I have to duck down to change or else we can easily be seen by everyone.

The neighborhood is in awful shape. A heavy rain and a roofing issue condemned 6 of the 8 units of townhouses where we live. The neighbors are hoodlums. The kids get out of school and stand out front smashing plastic hubcaps or screaming or loitering. Young, thug-like kids walk the streets at all hours of the night. At any time you can hear them shrieking and talking loud or fighting out front.

I hate it. I feel like I am in prison.

I appreciate my stepfather taking me in because I had nowhere else to go but I hate it.

I sleep less than 5 hours a night. I work 16 hour days. I eat on the run if at all.

I feel like I have been sick for months. If I stopped to feel anything I am pretty sure I would collapse.

I'm worn about as thin as a person can be worn. I feel like a natural disaster encased in a thin plastic bubble and I keep marveling that it hasn't popped and unleashed holy hell upon the world.

There are moments I wonder if I will snap and the world will read my blog to understand how I went insane. When the newspapers talk to the family of the astronaut I find myself wondering if my blog will someday be used to put together the pieces of my own mental breakdown.

Tomorrow marks 3 months since I broke up with Jeff. And 2 months since I moved out. They say time heals everything.

I'm still waiting. I'm not healed. My pain has only shifted to something dark and full of anger.

Isn't that worse?

As an avid reader of other blogs, let me stop the commenters with their helpful counseling suggestions right here. When would I go and how would I pay for it?

And to be honest, having to open up to a therapist and talk about all of this would be like opening that bubble I mentioned.

Do I keep my emotions bottled up? Hell yes. If I didn't, I could singlehandedly bring about the apocolypse right now.

Somedays I feel like if I opened up and let it pour out of me it would be like the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when they open the ark and blinding death screams forth melting the faces of the watchers.

Somedays I feel like I am trying to hold back a tsunami of a flood behind only the power of my hopes.

Somedays it's so strong that I feel like I could look into Jeff's eyes and destroy him with simply the force of my hatred, without lifting a finger. I think I could just glare at him and turn him to ash. He's damned lucky he doesn't have to face me because the look in my eyes alone would probably make him wet himself.

My body and my mind need to break down and relieve this pressure, but I can genuinely say that I fear for mankind if I ever did.

Right hand to God, it is only my love for my daughter that keeps me from letting loose.

How can I let go if I can't let it out?

All that keeps me somewhat together is having to keep moving for my daughter. If anything ever happened to her...

Well, I'd suggest people run starting with Jeff.

Uncle

Uncle! Mercy! Sanctuary!

Whatever cry for help you need to hear, I will shout out. Just make it stop!

I'm weary. I really do try to be strong, but enough is enough.

From the moment I wake up until I finally fall asleep, my life is 24-7 dealing with the consequences of having ever met Jeff. The cot I sleep on. The tiny room I share. The 1 hour communte round trip to get my daughter to her 'old' school. The second job. Even the weight loss.

There is never a moment of peace. Never time to curl up with a book, lie on a beach or just be happy. The few hours of free time I have are owed to my daughter and I just miss having any sort of life of my own.

I want to meet someone, but it's impossible. Mr. Perfect could show up at the door and I don't have a free second for him.

The hottest guy I have seen with an awesome personality gave me his phone number and I don't even have time to call him unless he wants to wait up until nearly midnight for a 5 minute chat.

It's pointless. He'd only ask me out and when would I go?

Meanwhile Jeff is quite happy. How is that fair? It just kills me not to see him suffer.

I'm not blameless, but my god - haven't I been punished enough???

My only hope is to win the lottery tonight.

What's this?

I can't be sure - but something may be shifting inside me.

I think I might be opening a bit to the idea of meeting someone new.

I have no intentions of looking. I won't go searching for it. But I think if the right guy approached me I might be...

Well...open.

He'd have to be willing to go slow. He'd have to have my best interests at heart - even if they are inconvenient to him. He'd have to realizethe precious little free time I have and not lecture me about working so much.

He'd have to be a gentleman.

He'd have to be trustworthy.

He'd have to make the first move.

A lot to ask for these days...but if he's out there...I'm slowly becoming more open...

A Quick Giggle

Brad told me he dreamt about Jeff last night. He dreamt he went to Jeff's funeral.

It was outdoors. He parked his work truck, walked to the open casket, carrying a six pack of beer and looked inside. Confirmed it was Jeff and popped the tab and drank a toast to his death.

Someone objected nearby and Brad just waved them off.

I love it...

PMS

I am beginning to realize that I regularly experience phases I think of as PMS. Not the cramps, bloating and crankiness that is associated with menstruation but rather a different type. I call it PMS for psychic moment syndrome.

I need to chart it to see how regularly it occurs or what factors trigger it. I don't know if it's a phase that follows the moon, my own womanly cycle or if it's just entirely random, but it is very real to me.

This already sounds like hoodoo-voodoo to me, but I swear - bear with me....I am usually really down to earth and I wish I could explain all of this to you better but it's impossible. I can't accurately describe things that I do not understand myself.

In my blog archives you can look back and see times I told you I felt this heightened awareness. I would have vivid dreams and occasionally would fall asleep knowing I was due for an important dream. My dreams always came true.

I mention this now because I am in the phase again.

The best way I can describe it is that it feels like some part of my brain wakes up and begins to send and receive signals. I am filled with insights and clarity. I begin to dream these vivid and intense dreams. They seem abstract but certain aspects are imprinted on my brain and they end up being some symbolic or metaphoric message that never fails to come true.

In the past, I blogged most of them. To be honest, a few of them I kept quiet because Jeff was reading my blog and I didn't want to tip my hand.

I didn't tell you that I knew something was very wrong with Jeff beginning in August. Some of my closest confidantes would tell you that I would be on the phone with them telling them that I knew something was there for me to find. I searched until I found it. When I did, all hell broke loose. But from August to late October, I was watching him like a hawk. I checked his phone records, his bank statements and I even checked his desk at work. I just knew there was something there to be found.

I'm not sure if the phase is weak this time or just beginning to 'ramp up' but it's here.

To best maximize the momentary gift, I will give all of my impressions here and we'll see what turns out...

• I feel more relaxed about Jeff. My hatred for him is still powerful, but I have this sense of confidence that he will suffer. Whether it's because he's wronged so many people or that he's just an ass-hat, I don't know, but I feel no need to screw with him because I can almost see the train heading right at him and in time he will get bitch-slapped hard by fate. Something is whispering to me that I don't have to worry because he will be getting punished for all he has done. This comforts me so much...
  
  I also got the sense that my hatred for him is so strong and so powerful that it is actually channeling energies to focus on him. Like I've moved into supernatural hatred and I am somehow summoning darkness to deal with him. I don't have to 'do' anything but my emotions alone are going to be a catalyst for what comes for him.
  
• I can tell you that the feelings I have towards Brad right now are born of trusting him and feeling safe with him. I don't believe he's "the one" but I can see myself feeling fond of him because he's been my 'rock' and because he's been wonderful to me. There's nothing deeper even if my emotions are confusing me right now.
  
• I am afraid for 2007. Less for me than for the world. I think terrible things are coming.
  
• I think I am moving into a place where I might be ready for meeting new people. I don't know if there's someone out there for me, but I feel like I might be nearing a place where I can try. I think it will take a slow path but I feel like I can start to relax a bit about it.
  
• I am aware that I am on a path. I dreamt of driving with Taylor - I was running a little late and I didn't really know where I was going, but I was driving as if I did. That tells me I am going the right way for now anyway...
  
• I am aware that I am bottling up my emotions too much. I dreamt of an overflowing toilet (ew) and it is said to represent this well...To see a clogged toilet in your dream, signifies that you are holding in and keeping your feelings to yourself. Your emotions have been pent up too long. To see an overflowing toilet in your dream, denotes your desires to fully express your emotions.
  
• I believe I am not alone. Someone or something is with me. Last night, in my dream I heard their footsteps. I feel like it's...I have no idea how to say this without sounding completely 'quacky' but I feel like it's a guardian or a guide or some sort of spirit watching. I have no idea if it is a good thing or a bad thing. The footsteps frightened me. I went into lucid dreaming where I could hear them getting closer and faster and I was afraid and kept praying my alarm would go off and wake me...it did...just in time. I felt like whatever was coming was trying to reach me before the alarm went off and I was very afraid. Whether I was afraid of something bad or of something new - I have no idea.
  

With my overworked self toiling away, I rarely dream anymore, but the last few nights you can see my dream cycle picking up. My dreams are always in technicolor, by the way - Sometimes the dreams are more revealing than others, but they all seem to mean something. My impressions from last night were clogged/overflowing toilet and Taylor running for the plunger, a bathing suit that I was painting orange trim on, a watch I could not find (I don't own one), footsteps, driving with Taylor...

I honestly can't explain it, but I can tell you this - when I go through these phases is when I truly feel alive. I feel energetic and confidant. I feel connected to something bigger than me. I have learned to watch and listen during these days. It usually lasts several days. I feel like all my pistons are firing.

When I am not in this phase, it's weird. I can tell you now that I feel disconnected. I feel like I am lost without my cell phone. You know that feeling you have when you leave something important at home and you just feel 'lost' all day without it? Like when a lady leaves her purse at home and you spend the day aware that it's not with you? That's how I feel. When the psychic phase departs (and it always does) I never fully feel completed but I am less aware of that feeling.

I wish I could explain it better. I only know that I am just now understanding that the phase repeats itself in my life and that I have learned to pay attention to it. My next step needs to be identifying a pattern to it - is it hormonal? Related to weather? Phase of the moon? Something I ate?

I was about to publish this when one last thing hit me. Whatever is "with" me is WITH me right now. I just got a strong smell of men's cologne/deoderant which is weird since I'm alone and the only male who lives here (my stepfather) wears only fragrance free things. I'm smoking at the moment (I know, I know) so I should only smell the smoke, but the whiff of scent was so strong that I actually smelled my own arm to see if it was me (it's not). It was an unfamiliar smell.

I'm not afraid right now. Only very curious and a bit excited. When this phase hits, it's like a phone call from an old friend who has all of the answers and I can't wait to find out what I need to know.

I wish I could keep this state of mind. I hate knowing it passes. I am somewhat glad that when I am NOT in this phase I feel unaware of what I am missing.

Despite my own perfume and the smell of smoke - that smell of a man is so strong right now. I don't 'feel' him as much as I smell him. This is a new one for me. I've never equated this phase with a presence. It's almost disappointing because maybe it's not "me" but rather someone 'else'.

Whoever he is, he smells nice. I still keep getting these whiffs. Like he's moving right around me. Now it's gone. Then it's not.

It's not a guido-ish Drakkar Noir smell, but a soft, masculine smell. It smells powdery. It smells like some sort of male deoderant. It's gentle. It's not overpowering or strong or sexual - it's...comforting? Not fatherly. Not romantic. Not friendly. Somewhere in between all of it.

Heh. My guardian angel is a man (poor guy) and smells nice. Doesn't THAT just figure.

This all sounds bizarre even to me. I have no doubt people will read this and think I have taken up drinking. If you TRULY know me or have read me for some time you might know me enough to believe I am really experiencing something interesting and not just a 'flake'.

There is just no way to convince people of these things, is there?

Whatever it is, it's been with me since childhood and has gotten stronger. As a kid, I used to take ordinary playing cards and assign meanings to them and try to read them like tarot cards. Except I was about 10. And I had never heard of tarot.

I was also fascinated by all things supernatural - ghosts and the like.

I used to dream I was a witch. I would try to fly (to no avail) on a broom.

Nothing in my teens that I can recall.

In my post-teens, I became stronger. I picked up tarot and was able to read them like a pro from the first turn of a card. I amazed and baffled my friends and co-workers.

I had my first REAL ouija experience. A board we bought for a party. I was alone. I was curious. I talked to two different people and being a total skeptic, I asked them questions I could verify but could not know the answers to. Like when they were born, when they died and how old they were at death - then I would do the math. I would ask who was president when they died then check it.

I spoke to Amber - a young girl who said she had died in an Amtreck wreck in the 80's. I never did verify this one. She said "You will make a nice woman" which scared the hell out of me because I kept thinking "For WHAT?" She also liked to call my fiancee at the time "Richie" instead of "Rich" which he hated.

The other man was an old man who moved SO slow that I would actually get bored. He died in his 80's and had done something with news as a soldier. He didn't have anything interesting to say but he loved to just talk.

Around this time I had a very vivid dream. In it I was in the "witch-burning times" and was watching a trial. A woman - a current co-worker of mine at the time - was being tried as a witch. I knew I had betrayed her. I had told on her. Worse, I was like a sister to her. I was a witch too and I had turned her in to save myself. She met my eyes during the trial and we both 'knew' I was a traitor. Weird because this woman and I were NOT friends. The dream was so intense I had to tell her about it and she freaked out. She had recurring dreams of her own that she was tried as a witch and had been betrayed by her own coven.

About 6 years later I met a high priestess of a pagan coven and met with her once a week to learn (not spells, but to learn more about the science of it all). I learned at this time that my gift was as an empath. I can 'feel' other people's emotions - usually TOO strongly. If a friend of mine is experiencing something, I feel it right along with them. I've actually learned to turn this off a bit but it used to be horrible.

Another several years later the recurring dreams began. I would realize I was having recurring dreams and that they seemed to come true.

Last year I began to realize I felt "aware" at certain periods.

Today I realize there's a pattern of some sort and possibly a presence (he's gone now).

I have no idea. I honestly wish I could somehow communicate this all without rambling.

I wish I could call some scientist and say MEASURE MY BRAIN WAVES NOW - or something.

It's indescribable (and obviously frustrating to not be able to describe it) but it feels so wonderful.

I feel alive, awake and energetic. I feel excited for no reason.

Snap Out of It

It's a gloomy Monday and the town that hosted SuperBowl seems to have a hangover. The streets are quiet. The phones are silent. People are simply hunkered down.

There's a feeling of tired and weary. Looking outside, this place looks like a ghost town. When I ventured out for a sandwich earlier it was eerie. People were silent and sullen like zombies.

It's creepy. It almost looks like my surroundings absorbed my emotions and turned to grey.

I once read this great book, What Dreams May Come (not the movie, the BOOK! Big difference) and they explained how in the afterlife you shaped your world with your thoughts. Miserable could find themselves in a self-imposed "hell" created from the darkness and gloom of their very thoughts. As the environment worsened to match the thoughts, the environment would further depress the person and the thoughts would get progressively darker.

Hence, the downward spiral of misery was unstoppable.

I meant to write the above as a sort of observation about the day and the gloom and it just struck me how apt that all was. I just described my life, didn't I.

My guardian angels must be working overtime or I am in one of my occasional psychic phases because this post was originally titled "Snap Out of It" before I wrote a word and my original post was about my annoyance with people who told me to "snap out of it", "cheer up", "move on" and so forth.

Wow. Sometimes my psyche just creeps me out. There's an entire postworth of thoughts on these psychic phases I go through where my dreams become vivid and revealing and I seem to be able to pull answers out of thin air. Some combination of my hormones must occur randomly and ignite some sleeping part of my brain...but, I should remain focused on this train of thought right now....

Ok, back on task.

So - if the book accurately hit on that note, than the reverse detailed in the book should also be true - light thoughts, happy thoughts and joy also multiplied and lifted the spirit.

So...I just have to be happy right?

And, we're back to my original and erased thoughts that started this post before I rewrote it.

How the fuck do I get happy?

Because I am in that downward spiral. I feel like my thoughts get darker, my surroundings get darker and I am sinking.

And I want to be happy.

But how do you get there? I can't just stop hurting. The anger doesn't just dissipate. Focusing on the positive is exhausting because I have to look so hard to see it through all the negative in my life right now.

I need an emotional enema.

When I slept, my dream was of working. In my dream, I saw Brad. I wanted to put my arms around him and feel comforted.

I also saw two of the restaurant managers. One of them was unfairly yelling at me and I was defending myself loudly and angrily. The other manager, the General Manager, was nice but was not really listening to my complaints. He was flirting with me. He kept whispering in my ear. It was weird.

No clue what THAT means.

My 2nd job is weird. I like everyone and they all seem to like me. They also avoid getting close to me because most of them don't like my sister.

Even weirder - there is this young, punk of a line cook that everyone thinks is an asshole and not attractive and for some bizarre reason this kid looks like lunch to me. He's probably 22 at most and looks like trouble and I just love watching him. I don't talk to him. I go out of my way not to talk to him. If he DID talk to me I'd run. For some reason, I just love watching him.

I don't know. Everything feels deep, dark and strange today.

I still hate Jeff. I fantasized about his death again as I fell asleep last night.

It made me smile.

Hey!!!

Size 8!!!!

Yep. I wear a size 8!!!!!!!!!!!!

My sister and I are now the same size. (Even if she has 2 inches on me)

I haven't been a size 8 since high school!

I have dropped from a size 14 to a size 8.

Unbelievable. Yay me!

The Big Game

It's SuperBowl Sunday and I'll be Tivo-ing the big game just for the commercials. I work, of course.

With the "big game" in my neck of the woods, it's been madness.

The local news recently printed a story about how all the out-of-town visitors from the Midwest that came for the game brought manners with them.

That may be true, but the cheap asses don't know how to tip.

I had a lovely night: pleasant tables, smooth sailing and happy customers who thanked me warmly and left cheap tips that almost never exceeded 15% and often fell below.

Servers earn about $3 per hour. The IRS automatically assumes we get 10% in tips and our company (and most) calculate our sales and deduct taxes for 10% of assumed earnings. In addition to listening to you ramble on about the menu and fetching your 37th refill of water with lemon we are busting our asses to also make sure you have clean plates and dishes and bread and so forth in the back where you don't see us.

We are on our feet for no less than 6 hours. We're dedicated to making you happy because we know you ultimately pay us.

When your iced tea takes an extra 2 minutes, it's not because we're playing grab-ass in the kitchen...it's very likely because there are no clean glasses yet and we're standing over the dishwasher screaming.

When your salad doesn't come racing to your table it's probably not because we're chatting on our cell phone, but may very well be because we went to make your damned salad and discovered that the container for the fat free ranch you had to have was empty and we had to go to the back refrigerator, dig out a new container and refill it before we brought your salad.

We don't cook. If your steak is undercooked it's equally distressing to us because we know you're annoyed and we couldn't do much about it unless you want us taste-testing your food before we bring it.

When you leave, we are on our hands and knees picking up the 300 Cheerios your cute, but obnoxious toddler gleefully tossed on the damned floor or the broken crayons your 5 year old had more fun breaking than coloring with.

When you sit there for 3 hours chatting, we're fidgeting because the table can't be 're-sat' and we're losing business.

When your cherub faced infant screams bloody murder for 30 minutes straight, you are not only annoying us, but often pissing off the people around you who take it out on our tips because they only remember a miserable dining experience.

And when you leave 15% or less, you are insulting us.

When you leave 20% we know we made you happy.

When you leave more, we remember you.

If it were not for ONE unexpected table last night, I would have made shit.

I had a table of 4. Two incredibly obese women in mumus and an overweight redneck looking man with a small chubby child.

I have to admit, I prejudged the table.

They ordered more food than I have ever seen anyone eat and specifically ordered the most unhealthy and fatty foods.

I gave them the same great service that I try to give everyone, but in the back of my mind I was thinking the worst. I was friendly and tried to make their meal an enjoyable one - but I actually do that to every table regardless.

They left me $35 on $85.

If they return, I will not only fight to serve them, but I will move heaven and earth to give them the red carpet treatment.

We do remember our customers. You'd be surprised.

We remember the friendly man who rips the bread up and creates small messy sculptures and drives us fucking insane and then leaves a GREAT tip on a tiny bill. $6 on $28 might be nice - but in a restaurant where the average dinner check is over $50 and the average tip is $10 - you really didn't do us a favor and we groaned when they sat you in our section. We know you are going to run our ass off for $6 while the man who pulled up in a Ferrarri with 12 of his closest friends is going to be sat in another section.

If you're cheap, stay home. If you're going to share a $20 steak between 2 people and drink water and spend less than $30 at dinner rush - eat at the bar.

You want the best service?

Here it is...

We tell you our names when we greet you. Remember it. If you like us, ask for us again next time. When they seat you in our section - greet us by name so we know you know us.

Don't be afraid to tell us exactly how you like something. We have a policy of making a dining experience special and we'll go over and above for you if you make it worth our while. We may not serve espresso, but there is a Dunkin Donuts a few shops away and if we remember you're a great tipper we will run over there and back to give you what you wanted.

Chat with us when you have the time. Whatever line of business you are in, we've probably met 400 people who might use your services and if we liked you, we'll suggest you.

Don't assume we're stupid. I deal with 800 of the wealthiest and most influential people in South Florida (Broward) every day. I may look like 'just a waitress' but if you are the owner of a new landscaping business or a realtor, I actually have the ability to triple your business by referrals.

Likewise, when you behave like an ass and then pay with a credit card - especially a company card - we remember that too.

We have customers who walk in the door and we will all greet them with a cheerful "Hi Mr. Johnson! How's the family?" We'll sit him ahead of other guests and have his favorite drink on the table the second he sits. We remember that he likes his steak a certain way and the cooks are already on the job.

Mr. Johnson knows he can look like a big shot to his friends when he comes to us.

Mr. Johnson tips over 20%.

Another customer raises dogs and loves to bring home big steak bones for them. We will actually scour the dining room for every guest eating a T-Bone and race to clear their plates to grab that bone. This customer leaves with a bag of meaty bones without having to ask...

This customer tips $20 just for the bones.

We also remember the customers who are bitchy, whiney, annoying or cheap. If you are a regular customer who gets ignored or treated like a stranger it's because we know you're worth 15% or less. We're not going to ignore the big tipper in the corner for you.

Moving on...

I'm in a decent mood. My sister and I went for a late dinner last night after work and just talked. I love her to pieces. :)

I'm off to spend some time with Taylor before work! :)

So very many thoughts

Wow - where do I even begin to spill my thoughts?

• The weight loss. I touched on this in my last post, but lacked the time or proper level of "awake" to really discuss it.
  
  I am finding myself being forced to learn a new walk, so to speak. I honestly do not know how to deal with the male attention I am beginning to get. It dawned on me today that the last time I was on the receiving end of this much attention was close to the weight I am now. I mentioned that I am built curvy with breasts and hips - an hourglass shape. I'm balanced on top and bottom and something about this weight seems to attract men.
  
  Sometimes it's a look or a smile. Other times it's a male co-worker or friend telling me I am "gorgeous" (I'm not). From time to time it's a major come-on. Sometimes they grope. I get touched, brushed and rubbed.
  
  I don't like it.
  
  I used to wish I could be desirable in appearance. Now I feel like I'm suddenly wearing neon or something that is drawing men to me and I honestly don't like it. I didn't like having 2 different men touch the tattoo on the small of my back last night. They were strangers who walked behind me in a bar. When you sit, the pants ride down just enough to offer a glimpse, but not enough to be obnoxiously low. I was unaware of it until the first finger touched the butterfly and I jumped. Both men apologized with a rather smart-ass smirk that told me they were not sorry and I ignored them outright to make them go away.
  
  It's sad to say, but it almost makes me want to put the 30 lbs back on.
  
  How weird is it that I spend all my life wanting to be pretty and attractive and sexy and the minute I begin to approach that line, I hate it?
  
  
• Even with that, I did have fun last night. I laughed and got to loosen up. My sister and I threw goldfish crackers at each other in a bar and were just silly. It was a great time, considering...
  
• Brad. I saved the best for last. Brad services the draft beer lines at my restaurant. Last night they went down just hours after he had come in to pick up Taylor as I started work. The managers begged me to call him for help and I did and he came all the way back with Taylor to help rescue us. As a town hosting SuperBowl, being without draft beer is like a suicide wish...
  
  He came in and saved the day and they bought his dinner.
  
  It hit me about then.
  
  Was it being alone? Is it because he's the only man I trust? Is it our past?
  
  Whatever it is...I felt it again. I felt butterflies. I felt breathless. I felt horrified and I was on the verge of tears.
  
  No...
  
  He's moved on. There is no way we could reconcile. His family hates me for leaving. He makes it a point to show no interest in me. He doesn't respond when I am more than friendly to him. There is no chance.
  
  Do I feel this because he is safe?
  
  Why???
  
  Whatever the reason, I need to make this go away... Still, it stung. I really wanted him back last night.
  
  
• Aging. Stress? Natural aging? I have no idea, but I found my first gray hair last night and I freaked the fuck out. I was pulling my hair back when I saw it. A highlight? WHAT???? I grabbed my tweezers and yanked. At the top inch of my red hair was about a 3/4 inch of silver.
  
  Are you FUCKING kidding me?
  
  (I ask as I sit with a headful of hair color soaking into my scalp - I was overdue....)
  
  I think what hurts the most is hitting this milestone alone. I remember finding Brad's first gray hair. I delighted in it. I may have even blogged it. I was so thrilled to be watching the man I loved age with me.
  
  And here I am...aging alone.
  
  Ouch....
  

Frankly, I blame Jeff for all of the above.

How do the gorgeous people do it?

I'm out of my league here.

I've commented recently on how I can't see a difference in the mirror with the 30 lbs I lost and it's true. On top of that I have "fat girl syndrome" - meaning I carry myself as though I still believe I am fat.

I still have 24 lbs to lose to be at what I consider my ideal weight, but I do know that I hide weight well. I'm curvy and well-proportioned and at my heaviest most people were shocked if I revealed my weight. They would easily guess me to be 30 lbs lighter than I was.

So, I guess the 30 lbs makes a difference. Because I'm getting attention and I don't know how to handle it. I told my sister I was going to get fat again so people would leave me alone.

Brad came into the restaurant (twice) - long story for later - and the host at the front pulled me aside and said "You can do better" (I was offended by this, Brad is VERY handsome). I pointed out that he was my ex and the host said he was going to 'fix me up'. I told him not to. He told me I was 'gorgeous' and that he WAS going to fix me up. Of course, then he also suggested I was 24 and not 34 so I can honestly say he's insane...

After work I went out with my sister and her friends for a bit. Once again, her friends would not leave me alone. I arrived and immediately settled into a video game for an hour or so and ignored everyone while I decompressed. One guy kept touching me and flirting with me and I rudely ignored him until he got the message and took a taxi home.

The other was very flirty and I enjoyed his company because he was very funny, but I was offended because he has a serious girlfriend who is out of town and she is also a friend of my sisters - one I happen to like.

When my shirt rode up in the back, men stopped to touch my tattoo (butterfly). When I adjusted my top, men fell over trying to catch a peak of a breast. When I glanced around men tried to make and hold eye contact.

I maintained my solo status well, but had fun. Still - I have to admit that the attention makes me uncomfortable.

For the record, and for my troll - I do not think I am beautiful. I am aware that men find me attractive but I do not think I am some sexy creature that every man wants. In fact, I am surprised by the attention I do get.

I have not gotten this sort of attention since I was a kid out of high school and to be honest, I have no idea how to deal with it. I find myself envying the gorgeous women who are so beautiful that they intimidate men because I am apparently approachable.

I don't know...what I do know is that I better learn because even in a stop at a 7-11 on the way home for a drink the clerk was hitting on me and my stammering and avoiding is not a deterrent.

More to post later including a long Brad post that crushed me last night and a shocking milestone I hit last night that prompted me to go drinking even though I did not earn my $100.

I have a million errands to run. Wish I had more time to spill...

It's Friday?

With the exception of a paycheck, I wouldn't even notice that it's Friday. My days tend to blur together lately.

My mood is dangerously neutral. Still feeling the powerful hate for Jeff. Not sad, but not happy. Not wanting to be bothered by anyone, but missing "someone" all the same.

I am expecting a good night at work. My sister and I are working the patio together which means we have more tables, all outside, and no sidework. We work together and pretty much have the section and the night to ourselves. If we can stay busy (c'mon weather!) than we can make decent money.

I think I will set myself a little game...

My goal is to take home no less than $90. If I leave with over $100, I'll go out after work for a bit. By myself - or with my sister, either one, and just treat myself to a drink.

Even if it's just one drink.

Even if it's just 15 minutes.

I'll go somewhere and sit and sip my drink and try not to be the saddest girl to ever hold a martini.

I may not talk to anyone.

I probably won't dance.

I'll most likely leave after my 15 minutes is up.

But for exactly 15 minutes I will be just another girl in a bar on a Friday night.

If I leave with over $100.

Otherwise, it's home for me.

What are the odds that in those magical 15 minutes, something could happen to change my night? My weekend? My overall outlook?

Slim to none. But for 15 minutes I will be there.

If the $100+ is in my pocket.

I'm Not Dead

I'm not dead, just floating
I'm not scared, just changing...
---Pink

I'm not dead. I know this now. Somewhere inside of me is a tiny fragment of life.

I feel like I am made of stone these days. Walls, ice, defenses on top of defenses. I won't let anyone into my thoughts, I withdraw and I don't discuss my feelings with anyone.

All of these are my responses to what that piece of shit did to me and my heart. I've been walking around like a zombie and spilling my thoughts here, but not letting anyone in the 'real' world get close enough to see how much pain I am in. I thought I was broken. I thought I had turned to stone. I thought I was frozen. I thought I had walls so high no one could ever scale them to find me...nor would.

But I think I understand something new too.

When I am alone, and Taylor is asleep, I cry. Sometimes I'm crying for me. Sometimes it's from exhaustion. Sometimes it's for no clear reason at all but just because I am so unhappy.

But if I can cry - even if it's alone and in secret, then I can feel something. Something beyond blinding, overwhelming hatred.

I'm still bitter. I see couples and I hate them. I see a screen name like "luvmyfamily" and I resent them. I hear about an engagement and I feel sick.

But I can still cry. If I can still cry, then there is still something inside of me that feels.

It's locked away. I can write about it now, this moment, because I can feel it now. In an hour, a day or a minute it will be locked away again - but this second, it's here and I can feel.

The me I have lost is broken and beaten down, but this teensy tiny cell of it lives on inside. In a moment like this, it has a voice.

I feel like this part of me is a prisoner. Locked and shackled away. Hidden and vulnerable. Even as I write this, the second word there strikes me as the answer...vulnerable. That's why it's locked away. Because vulnerability is what let jeff reach me once. Because it's the open door through which I have been hurt before. It's what I have locked up inside of myself.

I don't know how to break these walls down. I don't know how to be me again...or if I even can. Deep inside I want someone to be able to reach me, but at the same time I am guarded against this and ready to fight to keep anyone from getting close enough to see this vulnerable cell inside me.

It's when I am not crying that the 'stony self' is in control.

It's when I stop crying that I lose the battle.

I don't know that I can ever release the hate.

It's not until I move (April?!?!) that I can even begin to imagine a life beyond working but I hope that when I do...I will find that piece of me again and have a chance to nurture it to life.

I still do not know if I can ever open myself to love anyone again. Honestly, I doubt it.

But I hope I can regain some part of myself.

Refocus

I feel like I am refocusing myself again and I expect that is a good thing.

The Secret continues to work for me in the money arena - the only area I have really been able to successfully apply it. If I walk into work and say "I won't leave with less than $50" on a weeknight - I tend to leave with $75 or $85. Other servers leave with far less because it's slow but I earn good, solid tips and it seems to get busy for me towards the end of the night. The managers have learned that I don't want to be "cut" from the floor until the very end and tend to work with me. The hosts know I want to be sat and they seem to help too.

I would love to find other ways to apply The Secret.

Maybe my weight is an area. I weigh 158 today. Again, the lowest I have weighed in over 14 years. I have this little red dress that I bought right after Taylor was born that was so cute. It fit (snug) then and looked great. It was a size 11. I wore it once or twice. I saved it. I used to try to squeeze into it as a measure of my progress.

I tried it on today. It's too big. It fits, but it's loose.

I can look at my Excel spreadsheet (I organize my life by excel - budget, to do lists, weight, etc) and see that since September I have lost 30 lbs. I can't see the difference in the mirror. Yesterday, I ran out of the house to work in my usual dark blue jeans and a black tank top. I had my work shirt with me to put on later. I was surprised to notice that even in my disheveled state I turned two heads that I noticed. One leered, the other just 'noticed obviously'.

The weight drops slower now than when I was in my deepest grief. Probably because I eat nothing but fast food and drink soda. I have no kitchen, no pots or pans, so it's not a choice, but a necessity. I do notice my body tightening up. My stomach is flatter and I am getting more toned from the walking I do at the restaurant.

In the back of my mind, the weight loss pleases me. But it's a small victory because looking better on the outside does nothing for the way I feel on the inside. What good is looking nice enough to attract male attention when emotionally I can not tolerate male attention?

It actually reminds me of how I put the weight on to begin with.

In high school, I had a great body. After high school I was revelling in my newly adult freedom and found I was constantly fending off men. There were situations that made me feel uncomfortable. I hated being cornered by strange men everywhere from gas stations to nightclubs and I began to put on weight about that time. I think it was a sort of defense mechanism there too. When I went from "great body" to "okay" or "average" or even "plump" men tended to have to fall for my personality and my appearance and it suited me.

At no point in my life since high school have I wanted a man I could not have. Every man I had an attraction for was mine - either briefly or long term. I liked knowing it had as much to do with my personality as whether or not they found me attractive.

It's funny today, well - maybe funny only in the ironic sense - that I look better, but have lost my personality. I am no longer outgoing or full of life. I am quiet, hesitant, withdrawn and cynical. I am no longer openly sexual or flirtatious but rather very standoffish to the penis people. I regard them as vicious animals and I move among them with the same guarded sense as a postal worker might approach a mailbox guarded by a dog. I lie low to avoid attracting their notice and if I do get their attention despite that I put on a false bravado to keep them at bay.

I may look better, but I'm not going to be wowing the dating scene anytime soon. Or ever.

When I used to dream of losing the weight, I wanted to be desirable. It started with Brad's low libido. I wanted to be such a knockout that he and every man alive would drool and thus Brad would want to ravage me all the time.

Now, I am content to look nice for myself. I don't care what anyone else thinks of me or how I look.

I really, really don't.

The only bright spot is that I will get to look good at my sister's wedding in April. The bad side is that Roger will be there and I will be dateless at the wedding and probably coping with bitterness and terror at the idea of a wedding.

jeff and I were supposed to be married this year.

I talked to an old girlfriend, Tammy, today. Tammy was my rock through the worst of our breakup. She knows both me and jeff and she has been there through it all. I told her how much I hate him. I really do. I am completely full of the darkest hatred known to man where he is concerned. I long to castrate him.

No progress on the house front. For the moment, the focus has to be on accumulating the money. I can't make a move or put a deposit down until the end of this month at the earliest. I am still on track budgetwise, but it's frustrating to have it feel so far away.

My loneliness seems to be passing. I am not down and missing touch today. My life is one giant 'to do' list and being touched isn't on it. Honestly, I think if someone did reach to touch me I would slap their hand away.

I have strange relationships in my life. Two in particular. Brad and Todd.

Brad - my own stbx - is still my best friend. I think if I were capable of loving, I'd feel it for him. Right now I am not. Still, having him in my life to talk to - even though I can never really tell him how I feel - is so valuable.

Todd - Todd has been my long distance best friend for over 10 years. He lives in OK. We've met in person one time. In a weird sense, Todd and I love each other. I'm not sure we would if we were in the same town, but from a distance we do. Todd has a serious girlfriend, but he also thinks I hung the moon and never fails to tell me so. Todd is the one person I can tell everything to because he's a bit like a living blog. We IM or talk on the phone from time to time and he listens. He's had a rough time and went through many years as a major alcoholic where our conversations could get ugly and often ended with one of us slamming down the phone (only to call again the next night like nothing ever happened). He will never forget that I was there for him and he feels obligated to repay the debt. I do love Todd - in a very weird way, he is my most intimate relationship today. Todd and I have never touched, only hugged. We did dabble in one bout of phone sex and a few incidents of racy talk in the past. Somehow, he keeps me connected to a better part of myself. We are "all the we can be" to each other...we could never be more than this. We'd never work as a couple, nor would either of us want to try. Our friendship is more valuable.

The list of men in my life is so much shorter these days, isn't it?

On the Couch

I have good days and bad days, like anyone else.

My good days are never as good as most peoples. These days a good day is one where I am not full of rage, crying or focusing on how unhappy I am.

My bad days are worse than most. On a bad day I will sob for hours when no one is around. I will lie in bed when I need to be working. I will vent, rage and write hateful things in my blog.

I've wondered about my blog. I'm finding a sort of safety net in keeping myself closed off from people. A secure feeling in not opening up to anyone, even though I sometimes miss that intimacy with another person. But I suppose I am not entirely closed off if I can share the deepest and most honest feelings here. I've considered not blogging and closing up further, but I have to admit that blogging helps me.

Some days, it is a place to share a happy thought. I tend to feel like no one really cares to hear when something good happens to me, so I share it here with myself. Only it doesn't feel like myself, it feels like confiding in a friend. Some days it is a place for me to pour out my hurt and my anger where there is no judgement. Sure, there are comments, but they can be read or not read. Ultimately, it lets me release.

I'm a fan of many TV shows - TIVO being my new best friend - and among them is House. Dr. Gregory House is about as closed off as they come, and to be honest he often reminds me of jeff with his lack of ability to feel. I suspect the character is loosely based on a pyschopath/sociopath because he embodies many of the same characteristics. The main difference being that Dr. House is an aggressive man and jeff is as cowardly as they come when it comes to confrontations.

Still, I find myself envying House's stoic ability to be so locked up that he won't share so much as a memory with another person. Some days I would like to be that closed.

I used to be an open book. I shared my blog with people I knew. I never wrote anything I didn't tell people. I had nothing to hide.

Now, I am a closed chapter. I smile, I'm polite and I go about my business and not one person that crosses my path has any clue how I am feeling inside.

I am also a big fan of The Gilmore Girls. The main character, Lorelai is so much like the person I used to be.

I envy her too. I would like to be that full of life and fun again.

Dr. House or Lorelai Gilmore - I suspect I will become more like one or the other as time passes.

I just wonder which...?

I've stopped eating again. I don't know why. I tried. I have a huge plate beside me that is bound for the garbage of a tuna steak and potatos. I took one bite and left it there. It's got to be thrown away now. I think my emotions inside twist me up so much that I can't eat.

I've struggled with my weight for years. After high school, I just put on the extra lbs. Somehow I managed to carry them pretty well so it was never a huge issue but I never imagined I'd actually lose it all.

I haven't lost it all. My ideal weight is still about 24 lbs away but I seem to consistantly drop lbs every week - eat or not eat. I'm sure the walking at my 2nd job helps. I bet if I drank water instead of soda I'd drop lots more.

I'm not dieting. I'm just...well, I'm doing nothing. I eat when I absolutely have to and I don't when I have no time or appetite.

My new jeans are loose. In total, I have dropped from a size 14 to a 10. I suspect I could manage to fit into an 8. I see no difference in the mirror. I don't look any thinner to myself.

I'm noticing a strange thing about myself with Brad. I actually noticed it before, but never understood it enough to discuss it.

When I talk to him, I feel something inside of me turn off. I become guarded. I become quiet.

With strangers, it's easier. I think the people I serve at the restaurant think I am this friendly, cheerful woman. I should get an academy award for my shifts. It's easy to fake it. I've always been able to fake a smile or a laugh when I am dying inside.

It's a defense mechanism.

I seem to have a lot of defense mechanisms these days.

A Smarter Girl Than Me

A smarter girl than me would never have let someone like jeff into my life. She would have realized his past IS who he IS as a person and never believed the "it's different with you" bullshit. She would never have trusted a man who has never been trustworthy. She would never have fallen for lines, lies and promises that were broken again and again.

A smarter girl than me would have held onto a husband who fucked up, but was genuinely sorry and loved her. He was there for her. He knew her in ways no one else ever could. He would have stood by her through the end of time. It was real. It was probably the only real thing I ever had.

A smarter girl than me would never have let herself be swept away, manipulated and mutilated.

Yes. I have come to realize I was wrong to let go of Brad. Very wrong.

And yes, it is too late.

The things I went through have changed me. The person I am now is a far cry from the girl Brad loved and reconciliation is impossible. I was lucky he fell in love with me once. To imagine he could fall in love again with a different me despite the mistakes I have made would be like imagining the that tomorrow I will wake up and tears really will become currency with which I can be a multi-zillionaire.

The odds of finding what I once had are beyond impossible.

So, not really much point in looking.

I'm not pining for Brad. I still lack the ability to really feel anything but pain. I keep myself sedated with work and goals and anger because they dull the pain underneath. If I were to stop the self-sedation it would be like open-heart surgery and a hysterectomy without any anethesia.

I'm not ready to feel anything yet. When I do, I imagine it will hurt like hell.

Still, I accept my mistakes and I give up on love. I played the game and lost and I am out of the tournament.

You only get one "once in a lifetime" and I blew mine. What's left is to just be a good mom and hopefully a better person who is a little wiser, a little stronger and certainly a little sadder.

A smarter girl than me would have known better than to date Satan.

Fight

Another blogger, Pretty Peanut, has posted what seems like a surrender to her marriage. She's reached a point of giving up and it's not hard to see why - things have been hard.

I commented. I told her to fight.

She said "Did you know that there are men in this world who literally worship their wives, men who think all day long of how wonderful she is? Men who never hang out with the boys, never watch sports, never sit around drinking beer, never look at porn or oogle at other women, but instead they spend all their time (except sleep and work) doing the shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, nurturing the children, and doing the other chores so the wife doesn't have to do them? Men who daily give their wives backrubs, footrubs, bubblebaths? Men who believe that his wife's happiness is the most important thing on earth? Man who accompany their wives when she goes shopping and hold her purse and purchases while she tries on new articles of clothing. Men who believe that sex is for the woman's pleasure and that she decides if, when, where, and how-and that her having ultimate fulfillment is what gives him fulfillment? Men who give the wife the final say in all matters, from where they go on vacation to how every cent of money is spent? Men who simply exist to make life happy for the women they love"

She added "Here's the deal. I know this, because I had it. He was it. He did all of those things. He was a knight in shining armor. He always made me feel like a queen.The problem? I treated him like crap. I took him for granted. I never appreciated him. I never showed that what he was doing was something that I appreciated. I just expected it after a while."

Yes, I know this story. I had one too. He hurt me and I couldn't get past it and in the end I opened the door to the foulest, most evil man alive who saw my marriage as a challenge and decided to take it away.

I would give anything to be in P.P.'s shoes. Anything to have a chance to fight for it. You can reach a point where it is too late - and EH/Brad and I have. But to be back in time, facing that opportunity to save our family again? I'd do anything.

Brad is my best friend. Still. We talk several times a day. He's there for me. He also has a way of letting me know he's well over me by telling me about the hot manager he's hitting on or remarking about girls he likes. He never did that before, so I suspect it's his way of keeping me distant from him or rubbing it in.

The connection we once had is gone. He'll listen to me and offer advice or encouragement, but it's clear that it's more objective and not from "love".

Yes, I let him go and yes, I lost him. I was wrong.

We had problems but we could have fixed them.

Now...? Now for us it really is too late.

Fight, Pretty Peanut. Fight like you're fighting for your life. Because in a way - you are.

Today

It's not that I have nothing to say - it's just that my last post still says it all...

Touched

I've been so exhausted today. Once I napped and I dreamed.

The dream was a montage of scenes. In each, I vaguely recall being with a man - a different man in each scene but the theme was consistant.

He touched me.

Not sexually, though there was a sensuality to the touch. But simple touches. Once the small of my back. Once my waist.

I woke missing the feeling.

I suppose I do miss being touched.

I have a myspace page and I still have an old personals ad on yahoo. The picture on them both is the same as on this page. I get about 10 messages a day from men who say I am beautiful. Men who want to talk to me, despite my disclaimers about being closed off.

With so many men wanting to know me and me missing being touched - why do I feel so alone still?

In my dream, I welcomed the touches.

Was the fantasy that I was touched - or that I welcomed it?

Lying on the Bathroom Floor

Last season, on an episode of Grey's Anatomy, Dr. Izzy Stevens got engaged to heart patient Danny Duquet and he died hours later. Izzy went home in a ball gown and lay on the bathroom floor for what seemed like days in her pain.

Do you know how many times I wish I could lie on a bathroom floor?

The strong, motivated, determined thing is a front. I am shattered.

I gave my heart to a terrible man. Even worse, I took it away from a decent man who loved me and gave it to this monster. He promised to be gentle with it. Promised he would never hurt me...just before he hurt me more than anyone ever had. Just before he destroyed me entirely.

So I never really got that heart back. When he was done with it, there was nothing left to return. What is worse is that he did it deliberately. It was a game. A scheme. A grand manipulation. A plan. A challenge. A conquest.

I still cry. I don't cry for him because I hate him with every cell in my body.

I cry for me.

I cry for what was done to me. I cry for how much I still hurt. I cry for being such a fool. I cry because this monster ruined me - took away everything I believed in and left me for dead. I cry because I fell in love, followed my heart and ended up losing it forever to a worthless piece of shit who took it and destroyed it. Smashed it. Crushed it. Set it on fire and cut it into tiny pieces to ensure that it could never ever be put back together.

If you ever read me before. If you 'knew me then' - you know...I had a deep and great capacity for love.

Had.

I wish I could lie on a bathroom floor for a few days. Will myself into a catatonic state and just be still. But with a daughter and two full-time jobs, that's not a luxury I can afford.

I still cry. I just don't do it in front of people and I don't cry for him. I cry for me.

It hurts more to know that no one knows me now. The last person that did was him. He read my blog. He slept beside me. He knew my thoughts. Now, between the loss of any intimacy with another person and the tall, hard walls around my heart - no one knows me. No one knows that I still cry. No one knows what I think or how I feel and I can't tell them. I just can't.

At work last night, two things happened. One, a line cook who is the young 'heart throb' flirted with me. He's in his 20's and spoken for I think, it was harmless and I know he was just trying to be friendly. It was funny how it happened.

There's another line cook - also just a young kid. He has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen and I have to admit I am mesmerized by them. I am always trying to sneak a peek at his eyes without him noticing me doing it. The funny thing is that I confided this in my sister and the guy is not considered cute by anyone else's standards. When I mentioned how nice his eyes were, my sister was shocked. I had to remind her that the kid was about 13-15 years my junior and I wasn't lusting for him, I just liked his eyes. Thick dark lashes and light eyes. Very pretty. I like to look at them the way you might like to look at a pretty sunset. You'll crane your head to catch a glimpse, but you don't wish to touch the sun. You know?

I was walking towards the kitchen when Mr. Eyes was heading for the men's room and I tried to glimpse the eyes and found myself nearly 'caught' by the heart throb cook doing it. I thought he saw me do it and I think I blushed and grinned and looked away. Now I suspect he didn't realize what I was doing and probably thought I reacted to him that way. Hence the harmless flirting.

Anyway - he caught me alone in the back of the kitchen and turned the dimples and smile on me and told me he needed me to be his 'bodyguard' and keep the other line cooks away from him. Jokingly suggesting they were going to beat him up. (He's a personal trainer during the day and has the muscle tone of a God). I pretty much ignored him. He tried to convey the joke a second time and I finally looked up at him and told him I wasn't that kind of girl. He was baffled.

"You haven't heard about me, have you?"

"No..." (confused)

"Okay, well - know this. I hate men. Seriously hate them. If a group of men want to beat the shit out of each other - I consider it sport. If you're looking for a bodyguard, I'm not that kind of girl. I think men should bleed and bleed often."

Line cook backs away slowly. Mission accomplished.

Next, we have the restaurant 'whore'. A cute guy they call Sam. Sam is older - late 20's, maybe even the big 3-0. He's cute and charming and clever and is known for bedding his co-workers. Yep. Reminds me of someone I used to know.

Sam is nice to me and we kid around in a non-flirty way. Sam does know about me. He knows that if he's androgynous around me we can get along fine. If he displays a hint of being male, I walk away. Well, stalk away. Okay, storm away.

Sam asked me a favor with a table and I did it because I like him and someone joked that I "wanted" him. Yeah. I put that rumor to bed pretty fucking fast.

The men I work with are slowing learning to leave me alone. I'm nice and I'll kid around, but don't even joke with me about love, sex or flirting because the wall goes up and the freeze comes on and I stomp away.

Once again, I maintain that no one - and I mean no one - will ever get close enough to hurt me again. And as much as it sometimes hurts that no one knows me anymore...no one is ever going to either. I have the blog for that. My diary knows me. You know me - but you really don't.

Safe, you see?

So, I'm telling you. Sometimes, when no one is around - I put my head in my hands and sob.

Not every day. But some days. Today.

Then I clean myself up and carry on. Because I don't have the luxury of hurting. Because no one is going to be able to make it any better. Because in the end, it matters to no one that I cry or that I hurt - not even really me. What's the point?

What was in me is gone and it's never coming back. Don't tell me "in time" and don't tell me "one day" because I would rather die than to ever love a man again.

I really would. And that's not the kind of thing you can put in a personal ad, is it?

I've seen the very worst in a person and it's scarred me for life.

I just wish I had a bathroom floor of my own to lie on.