On cowards

How can one use the phrase, "not the forever kind of love" and then go back?

I understand not wanting to hurt someone...and I understand hurting when someone you love is hurting...but if you can consciously say that you love them, but it's "not the forever kind of love", and not break things off, you are hurting someone...even if it's just you.

Don't get me wrong. I would rather hurt myself than be responsible for hurting someone else, but that's being a coward...and there are definitely times in my life when I've been the coward. As much as I would like to say otherwise, I will likely be a coward again.

It's almost always easier said than done. I can admit that too.

I dunno...I'm one of those girls that tends to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders...and I feel an insane amount of pain for the people I care about. Sometimes, I wish I could grab them by the shoulders and shake them until they get it...but that's not the way it works.

Life is too short to be a coward...and definitely too short to be unhappy.

Just live.

I almost fell...but instead...I was the coward 

and said the things I knew would stop me...

doesn't make me care any less.

"Random" Observation

This post serves no real purpose other than to get this out of my head...and direct your attention to an interesting blog.

Yesterday...or the day before...I came to the realization that friends with benefits only really works if you become friends after the benefits. If you are friends before...it gets all fucked up. At least, this has been my experience...and it's a shame that it took me more than once to figure that out.

This morning, I read an entry from the Naughty Mom on being "Just Friends". It kind of hit home...and I wanted to share it.

That's all, cupcakes.

Letters are easier

...

I've been writting letters a lot lately. They are quicker, to the point (and usually the cowards way out...).  I can write, in letters, what I don't have to balls to say to someone's face...and most of the time I know they read them. I'm usually quite passive agressive in my letters...of course, as we all know, I'm the queen of passive agressive. *insert eyeroll here*

I generally have no problem being inappropriate, either. It's my shit...if it bothers you, don't read it. It's that simple. However...some people choose to read and be offended, or get pissy...or hate me (rightfully so, in some cases)...and they continue to read it. Come on! Get a grip! Ignorance is bliss...or some shit like that.

This time, however, I can't bring myself to write the letters I want to write. I want to say something that puts everything into perspective, and makes all the answers clear and obvious...but I realize, from experience, that you can only help those that want to be helped. Until they make up their minds to do what needs to be done, for themselves and their well-being, they aren't going to do it. It is what it is, and that's all it is.

I still find myself a little heartbroken for you, though. I know how you feel. Some people have no problems being the asshole. Some people just can't do it and, instead, continue to be miserable...even though it's slowly killing them.

Sometimes, I think distance is the best thing. Distance and time...usually they will straighten a skewed perspective. If someone asks for space, and you love them as you say you do, the least you can do is give it to them. It's instinct, perhaps from childhood, that when we think something is going to be taken away from us, we cling to it even harder...never stopping to think of what the consequence might be.

It saddens me when I notice the difference in behavior...depending who is or is not around. I wonder if anyone ever saw that change in me. I was conscious of it, but I wonder how well I put on around others... Apparently, pretty good, judging by the shock on people's faces when they find out.

I dunno...today is a weird day, and I'm in a weird place...

This is why you shouldn't kiss me like that...

Cupcakes would probably make me feel better.

Awkwarrrddddd...

Today, when I went to pick up my lunch, I saw the pastor that married my ex and I. I've been trying to avoid him since I left because I didn't want to disappoint him...I dunno.

At this point, we have been separated for a few months shy of a year, and completely divorced since January. Chris even has a new girlfriend that he takes around town.

So...we kind of both assumed that by now, the pastor would know about us. If for no other reason than that this is a small town and people love to talk.

Him: Hey, girl!
Me: Hey, Mr. Larry.
Him: What you doin' with that ol' red headed boy?
Me: Uh...sir?
Him: What you doin' with that ol' red headed boy?
Me: *awkward pause & and nervous giggle* I'm not doing anything. See you later!

So...I sent Chris a message telling him what had just happened, and told him that I thought Mr. Larry already knew. Chris said that he thought he knew, too, because Mr. Larry had seen him and his girlfriend out somewhere one day. (Someone said the girlfriend reminded them of me...perhaps more than one person thinks that? Weird.)

I'm not sure why I have such a problem telling him that we aren't together anymore. Anyone else, if they ask, I'm just like, "We're divorced." or "He's not my husband anymore." or whatever...sometimes, I like to see the awkward look on their face. That's mean...I know.

Sometimes, I wonder if preachers feel like they have failed when someone they married gets divorced. Perhaps I don't want him to think it was his fault...

Who knows, cupcakes.