Hope will be the death of me

Having buried the hatchet and put the latest spat behind us Inamorata and I have agreed to go back to basics and try to be friends again.

Now I’ve never been very good at staying friends with any of my ex lovers – once the romance is dead I move on – so this situation poses a real problem for me.

The main problem as I see it is one of hope. I know I can’t have her, and even if I could she maintains that we’d never work, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping that someday something will change and we’ll get our chance to try being a real couple.

Hope can be empowering, bringing strength in the face of overwhelming odds, but it can also shackle the unwary soul to an impossible dream.
Unfortunately hope is a hard thing to kill, and I have a hunch that in this case hope may well prove to be the death of me.


Lessons learned the hard way

God I hate these nights, laying awake for hours, the constant clattering of thoughts as they bounce around my head, too tired to think but to disturbed to sleep.

It all fell to shit, as these things so often do. A few days after my last post I went to my section chief and told him I wanted to step down as a team leader and that I was going to look for a new job. He quizzed me as to why, and I told him that I put myself through university only 5 or so years ago and I now wanted to pursue my dream and put my degree to use. He swallowed my lie wholeheartedly, but a part of me now thinks he suspects what happened between Inamorata and I – the truth is plain to see for those with eyes for such things.

After a week or so of heated disagreement both personal and professional Inamorata finally messaged me saying she felt we could no longer be friends and that from now on we would be colleagues and no more.
Since then we’ve barely spoken a word.

And so life goes on.
The new woman in my life, Bouncer, is a comforting distraction, but running her own business leaves her little time for me. I don’t know how long or how far this one will go, but I like to think every woman I’ve shared my life with has taught me something – Bouncers lesson may be patience, Kittens was the need for compatibility beyond sex, Wildcards was long-distance doesn’t work (for me at least). Inamoratas lesson seems to be twofold – don’t mess with married women, and definitely don’t shit where you eat.