A Little Sensitivity Always Seems to Get To Me

Originally written on October 4, 2009 at 4:34pm

--Patty Loveless, "That Kinda Girl"

The past two mornings, I have opened my eyes to look over at my arms curled around my Blackberry, as if it's going to leave me, run away and never come back. This is symbolic for something, but I'm not too sure what.

I wake up to some dream about him, mostly I just hear his voice.

I never wanted to get into another long distance relationship. I didn't particularly like the first one I was in. I got real unhappy, real quick, and since I was the only one willing to do anything about distance aspect, I pushed him until he gave in and let me move to New Jersey. Somehow I think it's much less tragic to fail when you're face-to-face with someone than dodge each other through emails, phone calls and TXT-messages.

I woke the Writer ex-boyfriend up this morning. "Do you know what fucking time it is? I know you can count," he snaps at me. "You must be just getting back from the bar."

"Do you think I made it hard?"

"Huh?" He's still half-asleep.

"Do you think I made the distance part hard for us?"

"Something about you personally?" When he's tired, he sounds like he's straight out of Philly. "Nah. It was just a hard situation in general."

"I think it was harder for me," I add mournfully. It's three in the morning over here on this coast, and I'm still drunk.

Even after all the time, he refuses to believe I ever did anything wrong the entire course of the relationship. He likes to take all the responsibility. "So, tell me all about [the female bartender]. Did you flirt with her at all?" Whenever he's needing to change the subject, he brings up my bi-curiousity.