Fuckwittage

Rrrrrraaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr...

What the Hell? Why do I feel like this?
Let me explain: I was sitting in my car, listening to ABBA The Visitors at full volume and singing along, waiting for the lights to change so I could drive into Sainsbury's carpark. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed movement. I turned to see two people walking across the carpark towards the pavement. One of them immediately brought me to attention (not like that!). Why, it was my ex. The one with the adorable wiggle.

He hadn't seen me so I checked him over. Hair? Perfectly styled. Clothes? Casual but stylish and well fitted. Face? Just as goodlooking and cute as when I left it. New Boyfriend? Yes. There he is.

Bastard! As in, him: lucky, and me: stupid. To make matters worse, I know the boyfriend and he's a very nice guy. Grrrrr...

I sat in the car, no longer singing, but seething. If it was any hotter, my gentle simmer would have boiled over and exploded, leaving a crater half a mile wide and a mushroom cloud blackening the sky over east Norwich. Why did I dump him? Twice! And then, after we got back together for the third time, prompt him to dump me? Why?

Oh, that's right. Because of the copious amounts of fuckwittage I seemed to generate. God forbid I should ever turn straight and go out with Bridget Jones! As much as I wanted to be with him and do stuff to him when we were apart, when we were together, I didn't. It took us three goes to realise that I didn't know my own mind, or what it/they wanted. Although, I think the ex had realised during our first go. Despite his relative youth - 24 - he was much more clued up about what he wanted than I was. It's probably why I prefer older men. I assume they know what they want and can put up with a younger flibbertygibbert such as me!

After seeing him, I want a boyfriend. More than ever. Even him again. Although, I know it won't last and I'll feel like a queynte again when I ruin it or dump him.

Maybe I'll kill myself again?

Sigh.... Being undead is too much hassle. I think I'll have to ride this one out.




Bugger.


P.S. If a prospective boyfriend is reading this, it's all a lie. I'm practically perfect in every way. I made all that up for something to post. You do believe me, don't you? Don't you? Hey! Where are you going? Come back!

Come back...