Friday, March 14, 2008
Stains that Remain
How is it that some stains never seem to disappear? Scrub and scrub but that damn spot never seems to go away. Out, damn'd spot! out, I say! Disobedient, blasted spots.
For the past little while, I have taken to a plan of denial. "No I don't have feelings for him. I never did. That was just merely helping to pass the time." Obviously, a defence mechanism of sorts. Ignore it and it goes away, right? RIGHT? That plan seems to fall apart when you run into them unexpectedly and the carpet gets pulled out from under you all over again.
Being that I grew up in the family that I did, where Wrestlemania XXIV was as regular an occurrence as the changing of the guards, I can tell you that it feels exactly like being kicked in the stomach. The nausea, lack of breath, sudden cold sweat...exactly the same. All at once you are no longer the clever, intelligent, confident lady that you once prided yourself in being. But now, you are a weak and fragile creature who wants desperately for what she can't have and wonders about what could have been. The aching comes and consumes with a voracity that is hard to explain. And you hate yourself, just a little, for being so easily derailed.
I wonder if this is strictly a female phenomenon or if guys just don't let on that they are affected the same way. If they aren't, lucky b@stards.