Broken Bella Donna

{April 29, 2012}  

I am so tired.

I had the strangest night last night, resulting in an uber late night… I somehow managed to touch base with an old ‘friend’ and get hit on by a married member of our country’s finest, all from the comfort of my own home. Thanks Facebook!

I have no idea how I feel about either of these points, but I do know that I thought I’d have time to correctly digest the first, before the second even occurred. I didn’t know the second was GOING to occur.

I have been fighting the urge – on this blog (April 7 most recently), as well as every blog I’ve ever put fingers to keyboard over – to contact this old ‘friend’ for some time. In all honesty, it’s been an ongoing battle for the last ten years, with the occasional moment of weakness allowing me to reset the button and start it all off anew as soon as I crack the shits with him (again). For seemingly no good reason I messaged him last night to see if we could touch base, not with intention of being close friends anymore but just so we could… not NOT be friends. A few hours later not only did he say he would like that but he told me his wife – who was the nail driven between us – had suggested to him previously that he should contact me. And sent a friend request.

I know I’ve done the ok thing here, because I didn’t even think to check if he was online today, I don’t care if he doesn’t message again and I also don’t give a shit if his wife looks at my profile. Which I suspect is the reason she suggested he add me. All of this indicates to me that I no longer really give a shit about it, ergo I am OVER it. So it should be ok to going back to being friends! Huzzah!

It was also overshadowed by the very strange four-hour conversation with the local constabulary, who appears to be hitting on me.

Not hitting hard… but just little comments. Hints, as it were. References to how he’s holding back saying what he REALLY wants to say. Comments about my looks that started with small compliments and escalated up to a little more. Trying to orchestrate opportunities to get me alone so we can talk without interference from my nosy mother.

For some strange reason – the wee hours are encouraging to talk about stuff you may  otherwise withhold – I told him about my spazz attacks. He seems keen to ‘help’ me with that – usually people express concern or discomfort about the topic. He’s the first to offer assistance. Bizarre. I do wonder if he COULD help… but I don’t know. And I don’t know if I want to know what the trade-off could be, should he be able to.

Of course, in his position of power, he may well be able to help me too. But I have no idea. We don’t see each other often and when we do I fear it’ll be weird, after our convo.

How do I keep getting myself into these situations? I NEVER go out looking for married men to skulk around until they give me their attention. They just seem to find me. Best I can guess is that perhaps they see me as a safe option, someone to flirt vicariously with, all whilst understanding I’m not going to get all bunny boiler on them. I’m someone they might like to think they’d have a crack at if they were single, but they know that it’s ok to chat me up because I wont take them up on it and they can’t cross any line because of my moral dictatorship. Or something like this.

One was flattering. Two was weird. Three is wrong.


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