Think I might be feeling a bit better.
Which is, as you can imagine, a vast improvement on being someone who calls my friends up at hourly intervals to ask, for the hundreth-thousandth time, why this happened.
By four this morning, they’d all stopped answering and were letting their answering machines take the strain.
However, the sun’s shining, the birds are singing and instead of being partially preoccupied with Red-Herrings and whether they’re likely to call me or email me with further misleading information, I’m actually getting on quite nicely with my ‘Day-Job, Busy-Busy, What’s-Next-Work.’
That, for me, is a first.
Not the first time I’ve done any work for six years (even if that were true, that’s not an admission I’d be making in writing).
The thing is, I’m not somebody who has much capacity for loafing about feeling sorry for myself once I have been clearly and unequivocally told, in no uncertain terms, that any future relationship I may have with this chap will be unstable, unpredictable and completely out of my control.
As much fun as these years of mind-games and mental torture have been, I think I’m going to have to file it under ‘Look What He Could Have Won,’ make like a banana, and split.
On that bombshell, Work-Friend-Kayleen and I are going speed-dating.
I’ll keep you posted.
I am determined that this time, I’m moving on.