Blood test. Bought condoms. Long shower. Sad songs. Haagen Daz. When there’s an ending, there’s an ending, and the little rituals are what take the sting out. The ice cream puts pleasure into an otherwise unpleasant thing, the songs let me take ownership of my emotion and grieve in short bursts, the shower to remind me of my own body and the condoms to protect against impulsiveness. The blood test was this morning, and the gauze is still on my arm. It tells me the last time I was clean, but I have to admit there’s a masochistic component, that having something taken out of me feels like it’s cleansing me and turning me from a half back to a whole.
I don’t know exactly how to manage some things, the mood swings as he flails at me, taking his possesions and returning the key I gave him, as well as the little stuffed koala. I shouldn’t have to manage it, but it’s awkward. First him trying to negotiate never seeing me again and yet trying to join the same small group, then announcing my/our perversions are a mental disorder and calling me up an hour latter in tears because he’s being unforgiveably mean to me and will be at the munch on Friday.
I need to be cruel, to be kind. Distance we never acheived in the relationship has to be strictly enforced, and while I’m quite prepared to be polite to him, all his reaching and pushing is… boring. I’m tired of playing a game by his rules.
And now there’s a pudding cup and a day of deep cleaning my apartment until the floor is shiny and every dish is clean.