Namaste, motherfucker!

(Before I officially head into this blog post, I'd like to acknowledge how phenomenal my two [active] blog mates are. Sabrey and Therese, I love you more than life. Transcendent, enlightened, willful, powerful, beautiful, visionary women! I'm happy to be stuck in R(HELL)ationshit County with you, haha!)


I am learning to surrender. And I am learning to let him go. Can I repeat that? LET HIM GO?! Slowly, for effect and emphasis?

I. LET. HIM. GO. Hallelujah! Amen!

It's an active process. Therese has to check me every once in a while. And yes, he's still around. I'm not weak or flighty. It's just that we work together. I have to see him on an everyday basis in a professional setting, so I can't just be like, "Adios, motherfucker!" But I can be polite... and distant. Distant as in I'm-moving-to-New-York-in-two-months-so-from-now-on-I'm-3000-miles-away distant. What?! I can't hear you as you're right in my face in the bakery! Why?! Because I'm 3,000 miles away in mind, spirit, and being!

I wanted to end it by being really close friends, if not best friends. But shit... I can't do it. I am saying no. And I'll keep on saying no, even if it's new to me. Even if it's uncomfortable and I might regret it. No regrets. Faith in God, surrender to Spirit and Life. And I am free!

He nearly got me, too. Sent me some left-field text message. I had less than a 24-hour period of grandeur imaginings of his "true" feelings. (I still believe they're true; nigga will regret letting me go.) But then I realized how annoyed and frustrated I get with him. "Love is..." not that. I doubt when you meet your soulmate, they put you at the risk of hypertension. I can feel the veins in my neck popping out. I'm still somewhere between ripping him to shreds and ripping all his clothes off. I settle for neither. It's taken me this long to realize that I like my IDEAS of him more than I actually like him. And oh, of course I like(d) him. Love, even? And we had some GREAT times together.

But Jesus, I shouldn't have to tell myself "Namaste..." when he walks out of a room. Yes, that's how frustrated he gets me. So frustrated, I still have to blog about it. And I don't mind. I may sound like an incessant, obsessive, bipolar, dumb, guy-crazy bitch. Whatever. I own mine. But the truth is: I'm just not that into him... as much as I thought I was. I still get that feeling a few times a day. You know, that mournful, heart-fractured, woe-is-me feeling. Mostly when I see couples or am horny or whatever... but then I move past it. I can still eat, shit, breathe, talk, laugh, live, love without him. I'm okay.

I'll never make it as easy for another man as I made it for him. Ever. Again. But I don't give up, lose faith. I know my man is out there somewhere. As fine, funny, wealthy, intelligent, and talented as he wanna be! Sophisticated, spiritual, good. And all mine. And I know this present shit will work itself out, mend, and resolve. I need not do anything but smile, wink, keep going, and do my thing. There will be moments, hours, days where I might hurt. And then I'll move past it. Just like I did today. In the midst, everything feels so final and impending and larger than life. Well, nothing is larger than LIFE. And nothing is final... except for the fact that I respect and value myself so much more than to ever let myself do what I did for him.

I'm sorry that I hurt his feelings. And I'm sorry that I flip-flop and/or seem to villainize him. I'm not a victim. He's not the enemy. But he brings MASS confusion into my life; he's toxic -- a motherfuckin' problem. And that's real talk. He's not a bad person. He's actually a really good person... who sucks at being what I need/want him to be: a good friend, a good boyfriend, a good communicator, a good, permanent influence in my Life. I made some mistakes. I atone for them now. And I give up.

NAMASTE. Amen!

Adios, motherfucker!


P.S. I apologize for the many "motherfuckers" in this post... kinda. It's 1:30 a.m. What do you expect from me?!