So you WERE happy..

Krave! How come your Blogging at 10pm at night?! That's not like you!

Yeah. Here I am watching Myth Busts – er – busters, and quietly seething. Wow, yes I am. I'm seething.

Why? Well, dear reader. I'm a freakin' ass. I'm seriously annoyed with myself. I let myself believe that I could talk to Roxy without any adverse side effects. No. Not at all in fact. There were side effects all over the place!

To start with. I now realise that she's doing exactly what she wants.. No matter what she says to the contrary. No matter how much she complains. She's earning almost as much money as me – I've been with the same company for 11 years now – she's been there for, what two and a half? Ugh-huh. She's only got 2k left on her car – a Mustang, bright yellow. Last but not least she's done something strange with Scabby. There are rumors that's she's bought it with him and he's “living downstairs”, ugh-huh.

Ok. Some of you may be saying so what?! Your not going out with her any more! You can still be friends can't ya! Yes I could. Except for one small problem.

She's using me. There is no other way to put it. I'm being used, like a monstrous rubber dick up the ass. Ya know the one that needs a generator. The one that ya can't put on the house power supply because it would blow the whole street. Ya don't want to have to explain to your neighbors not only why the power company were looking through the windows for an hour laughing, but were also calling there friends and family to have a look!

Ugh - she's using me to negate the vitriolic nastiness of the scabby bastard that is “living downstairs”.

I don't like being used. Not for any reason. Of course having all the joy force ably removed from your soul during the course of a half hour conversations is rather distressing. Especially when it's been a while and you didn't remember that it happens. Oh the pain, I was all excited to talk to her! Bollocks!!! Bollocks!!!Bollocks!!!Bollocks!!!Bollocks!!! I am an ass! So I went from excitement to despair within an hour.

The question is will I be able to not speak to her from now on? Will I manage to be miserable? Should I just tell her, “Tough shite! When ya remove the scabby bastard from your life, perhaps I will be able to talk to you without the fear.”

Note to self: Read this entry once a week!