I have to decide whether I'm up to a social club happy hour tomorrow night. I'm not sure I am, plus it's all the way up in Evan_ston which means two different el lines. If I were to show up and see The Irishman there, I couldn't just dash home in a taxi. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but it's still a consideration. I might be ready to do a little mingling myself, if enough gin & tonic were involved, but I'm absolutely not ready to see him mingling.

Even if he is riddled with issues and was, on occasion, perfectly awful to me for no apparent reason.

I wanted to add all kinds of disclaimers here, like that everyone who has reached adulthood is more or less riddled with issues, and that I certainly have issues and am perfectly awful sometimes too, and so on. But you know what? To hell, I say TO HELL with that. For now, anyway. I'll go back to being fair eventually, but not today.

And you know what else? I'm not sure the sex was really all that. I'm starting to wonder if the main reason I enjoyed it so much because it was the first sex I'd had in about six years. SIX YEARS! (Now can everyone stop wondering why I have this tendency to be so cranky?!) I did enjoy the sexy bedroom talk and the, er, equipment, but now that I think about it there was room for improvement.

Now then. Pretty soon I will stop thinking painful thoughts about how I didn't matter even one whit to him, and he doesn't miss me now, and he's probably already slept with the next woman on his list, except that this time he will fall in love and make a lifelong commitment because she's the bomb and I'm not. And then I will stop longing for the parts that I really, really liked. Pretty soon. Any day now.

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