He doesn’t even like dogs. How could I fall this hard for someone that doesn’t like dogs? Who the hell am I?

That’s what it all comes back to. When processing my grief, bargaining is the fun part. Paltry beams of hope peek through a brainstorm of reasons he should ever speak to me again. It’s Seattle, so I’ll likely run into him somewhere eventually. The thought looms ominously, a dark promise. I crave the awkwardness and a chance for some sort of closure. All efforts are focused on not bothering him with my thoughts. Beside the fact he doesn’t care, I can only make things worse. Learning to live with disappointment, I go back to reasons I shouldn’t like him in the first place. A total snob, he literally laughed in my face when I mentioned the local music scene in middle America. And seriously, who doesn’t like dogs in Seattle?

The flat rejection is a kindness, in its way. Given the timeline and my propensity for survival, I’ll be back to playing pinball tomorrow night. I’m letting the hurt pass through me. The frustration is a different matter. I haven’t been intimate with anyone since that bitch bit my tit in January. The bruise healed but my desire to have sex didn’t return. Until Scott pinched my nipples. Slow and hard, I felt a deep arousal for the first time in months. That simple contact felt like coming up for air. The beast woke up in that moment and she’s ready to break free from this cage. First right of refusal goes to the short man on Capital Hill and he took a pass. Someone lucky is gonna get a free ride on all this energy I’ve been storing.

I spent last night aggressively Tindering, looking for a hapless victim. I got a few bites but the prospect of casual sex wasn’t appealing to the few people that I found interesting. My ability to hook up randomly might have withered and died during the celibacy. I never had a strong propensity for casual sex to start with. I’m grateful for this shortcoming. The one part of myself I don’t call into question is sexuality. I’ve run the gamut of possibilities and know what I want, without doubt. Finding it isn’t hard but keeping it is impossible. On the bright side, I have no witnesses to how I live. Judgement free, I’m mostly a cat at home. Outside the apartment, I’m a girl with pink hair and too many opinions.