Subtitle: To the left, to the left. All of your psychosis and your skin suits in a box to the left.
My friend was telling me about how one of his ex-girlfriends has remained in contact with him solely to ask for favors and treat him like a slave. I sincerely hope he does not comply with that crap. But seriously. WTF is wrong with people? If someone is out of your life and no longer obligated to you, why would you continue to use that person for favors? And why would he allow that?
As for Arsey Darcy, f*ck me. That has ended badly. My experiment has blown up in my freakin’ face. I need to get my shit together. I just do. It’s easy to get lax about certain things when you have given up. But when you gotta get up and fight again, ugh. That’s where I’m at. I gave up on a dream and now that I am back in the game with it, I need to get it together. I flat out do. I’ve been lax with my cardio. My weight training is going well again, but I have gotten slack with the cardio and slack with my healthy eating habits. I just gave up. No other way to say it. I got over my 2011 Black Cloud of Depression, which was good. But I gave up on my bashert and I gave up on God. I decided I needed to do my own thing. And that pretty much got me nowhere, LOL. Except miserable and confused and about 10 lbs heavier than I want to be right now. (Sorry for all this kvetching but I do call this Sara’s Place to Rant.) So now I have to rebuild my momentum from scratch. This is the tough part. As Trump says, if you stop moving forward, all of your previous momentum will swing you right in the ass. That’s happened to me. You remember in Rocky III how Rocky is goofing around and not taking the match seriously? Then he gets his ass handed to him. I’m there and that’s me. Now I have to go back to the “old ways” with Apollo and get serious about my life. The whole thing, not just one or two components of it. I need to quit dragging around in an “I’m mad at God for giving me false hope” haze and get straight here. A delay to your gratification doesn’t mean a denial. There’s a big difference. Now I look back at the time since last November and think, “OK. So instead of getting my act together, I farted all this time away in an emotional goof-fest and I now feel like I need to play catch up.” Not that there is necessarily any hurry. But that’s sort of the point. I don’t know the where or when all of this will happen but I want to be ready when the time comes. Not, “OMG, I can’t go through with this due to self-confidence issues.” We never totally get over those things, of course, but you want to feel as good as possible about yourself before you pair up with someone else. Arsey Darcy’s baggage is not baggage I can handle. One of my shyest friends said, “If he's painfully shy, he'll have to work through these issues on his own or with a therapist. It's definitely not your problem or your job to ask him out on a date. This sounds more like torture than fun to me and you should be having fun.” So true, so very true. It has been a nightmare of waffling back-and-forth and having these outrageous internal debates. You can’t put a square peg in a round hole. (Giggity.) It doesn’t work that way. And you can’t tell God, “I’m going to bull my way through this china shop whether you like it or not.” If you have to sit and spend hours on whether or not you even had a decent time on the first date with someone, here’s your sign. Each time I’ve spent with him has been riddled with the same thing. He’s no less murky and no more accessible than he was from the beginning! Can you imagine being physically intimate from someone and getting the same esoteric response? That would be horrible. Arsey is passive-aggressive and I don’t deal with that crap. If you need to say something to me, say it. (Lester Long: “You got somethin’ on your mind, boy? Show me!”) He made some weird suggestion today about us going out on another date this weekend but only doing things that I hate. (Who does that?!) I don’t know if he thought he was being funny. I asked if he was being ironic but he never responded to the question. I deleted his number and will have nothing else to do with him. It hasn't been that long ago that I trimmed someone from my life because we weren't even compatible on anything anymore and I was convinced I could take her on as a "project"; fix her problems, give her advice, help her out. Yeah, that worked. All I did was watch year after year as she hit one rock bottom after another. I don't make as good a fixer as I think and I certainly don't want a boyfriend who expects me to be his Mommy or his free therapist. I've been trying to transition from a Samantha to a Charlotte but for Arsey, I've had to put the Samantha hat back on. ("I love me more!") This is how I put it to a friend:
Even if Hugh Jackman showed up sweaty and nude on my doorstep and offered to treat me like the dirt he wiped off his shoe and show me an utterly miserable time, I'd slam the door in his face. And maybe across his pecker too for good measure!
The next time I get the clever idea to rush God or put out another fleece on this matter, I give you all permission to remind me of the idiocy that was the Arsey Darcy Experiment.
