Monday, April 20, 2015

Satiate.

I am not going to live to be a 100. Still, if by some miraculous fluke I survive alcoholism, questionable food choices, potential STDs and general lack of healthcare, it'd be pretty cool to have a kickass 100th birthday party. And anyone who knows me knows just how much I love my birthday. I wonder if that'd change by then though, considering we are all continuously evolving. Yawn.

Anyway, I digress... 

Assuming I live to be a 100, I have lived about a quarter of my life so far. I would like to believe I have led a fairly full one and yet, when I come down to it... I mean, really come down to it... most of my significant life memories are with these two men I used to know. One of them still manages to make some fucked up appearances in my life from time to time, but this memory isn't about him.

It was January. It was a little over a year since he'd hit me that I met him at a gathering. It's been more than five whole years since the incident and yet something about typing this out makes me feel about 18 again. So when I did meet him so close to the episode, I was immediately transported to his home and mental images of me sobbing hysterically on his white tiled floor. The previous year had been spent completely avoiding and getting over the asshole by finding solace in cheap booze and cheaper men. However, I did thank the Universe for ensuring that when I did meet the 28 year old love of my life, who had laid his hand on me in a fit of rage, I looked amazing. If only I felt amazing too!

I don't know what it was - him, me or the rum; but I texted him to meet me the next day.

When I entered his hauntingly familiar white tiled abode, we made love. I won't forget the day for a long long time. We made love twice and then we fucked several times through the day. I curled up naked on his lap and cried. I told him he needs to get out of my system in every possible way. I told him I'm not cool enough to pretend that I'm okay making polite conversations with him at parties. I told him I hated him from the core of heart. I told him that that's the same place I loved him from.
He just held me and breathed on my neck. 

We made love for one last time that evening. We bid our final goodbyes and I left to never look back again.

After a year of going through men like toilet paper, I was finally satiated.

Emotionally. 

Goldilocks.

I am very easy to tick off. Now, don't get me wrong. I rarely get angry. However, very little things annoy me. I snap at people if the climate is too hot, I don't put up with bad food, I zone out of conversations that don't interest me... Everything needs to be 'just right' for me. What do I tell you? I am Goldilocks.

I am also a staunch follower of the 'live and let live' philosophy and over the years I have come to the realization that if something (or someone) bothers me, it is my issue entirely. That's the great thing about this philosophy - the serious understanding of the fact that you have absolutely no control over what anyone else does. So it's probably just smarter to find it in yourself to ignore it, or function despite it.

And for once in my life, I can say without a shadow of doubt - it really isn't easier said than done.

Goodnight. :)