Monday, August 23, 2004

Intensely disgusted

It's amazing how a single word can evoke a gutteral response. Today's word is "intense".

I was typing that word as part of a description of some training offered at my workplace, when it sent me hurdling back to a time a couple of years ago. That's when I was with D.

D. came into my life when I was in the final stages of healing from the biggest heartbreak I had been through. (I will get to writing an entry about that soon, I swear.) Very pretty and seemingly quite complex, I was intrigued immediately. Who was this man? Why were his teeth so white?

As it turns out, D. wasn't complex at all. That was an illusion. He was actually just cranky and shallow. By the time I had figured that out, I was in too deep to just high-tail it outta there.

He never was very good to me. Though I suppose it's hard to be good to someone else when your sole concern in life revolves around the size of your own cock. (I mean that figuratively. And a bit literally too.) (Incidentally, he had no skill in that area though he fancied himself quite the Don Juan. I never had the heart to tell him how bad he was. I would pay a lot of money to do it now.)

Don't get me wrong -- we had fun. Sometimes. When he wasn't in a bad mood. Or mad at me for speaking to another guy. Or pissed off about his job. Or angry that someone else got an opportunity that he hadn't actually worked for but thought he deserved. Or, that his Mom hadn't folded his laundry the way he liked it before she drove across town to deliver it to him and and to pick up a new load of dirty clothes.

Did I mention he was a real winner? At 29 years old?

Can I mention that I now feel like a complete and total tool for having dated him for a year and a half?

Anyway. One day, he wrote me a card. I actually had to tell him to buy a card and write something nice to me, as it was the day after our one-year anniversary which had lacked the expected romance and joy one would expect on such an occasion.

In this card, he wrote some useless, insincere drivel. He also thanked me for an "intence" (sic.) night.

I don't remember that night being intense. I do remember it being horrible. I remember twisting his arm to go out to dinner. I remember silence during dinner because he was in a bad mood and didn't want to talk to me. I remember crying myself to sleep because he sent me home after dinner, not wanting to spend any more time with me that night -- on our anniversary. I remember not wanting to acknowledge to myself that this was clearly a very bad relationship that I needed to get out of immediately.

I clearly had a distinct lack of self-respect at that time.

I probably haven't used that word since he wrote it in that card. Now I know why. Because it gives me an intensely disgusted feeling.
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