Me: You’re dangerously close to me hurting you for calling me a whore-

Him: No! I didn’t use the word whore, just kinky. We’re into kinky sex acts. There’s a difference between practiced skill and mechanical, apathetic movement. Having the first doesn’t reduce you: if anything, it raises your value! I’ve dated many women regardless of their ethnicity, ages, social/economic status, beliefs and backgrounds but I’ve only come across two others like you. Believe me, I know you’re rare and to be kept.

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Forgive me, handsome

For wishing you happy holidays and keeping you in my thoughts and my heart. You’re the only one I can’t reach and your love is fading from my memories. But if you asked, I’d give it one more try. I can’t make myself erase or delete all the posts from these last few months but I promise I tried; I’ve privatized/restricted the ones with more vitriol, anger and resentment but even in those are memories, happy, loving, confused or hurt thoughts I dared to dredge up and relive. I can’t make myself go through that again. Even when I try, I know I’m not feeling the same depth as when we experienced things together and I know it’s a result of writing them out. The cup empties, the cup fills.

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It’s Christmas Eve

and I just got one of the funniest phone calls to close out the year (I doubt I’ll get one funnier to top it)!

Me: Allo?

Banana: D, mom wants to know if you wanna go hot pot for dinner? I told her I’d call to see if you’re feeling better?

Me: Ugh, I keep getting sicker every day so, I don’t think I can handle hot pot…

Banana: Is your Prone’s that bad?

Me: My what?!

Banana: Your Prone’s!

Me: Okay, slllowly, tell me what you’re saying and stay in one spot ’cause I think your cell is breaking up.

Banana: Your Prone’s that upsets your belly (“upsets your belly” is spoken in Chinglish)

Me: You mean Crohn‘s with a C?

Banana: Yeah! That! I couldn’t remember it but that it sounded like prunes-

Me (cracking up): Oh, if only kid, if only prunes were my issue!

Banana: Aw, then want me to bring home pizza for you?

Me: Nah, just gonna fast for a few days and try to figure out what’s extending this most recent messy bout.

Banana: You’re not going to eat!? How’s that healthy?

Me: Believe me, I’m starving but it’s better than going back on the prednisone and being all crazy from the energy and lack of sleep.

Banana: Your prunes suck.

My Resignation

People would describe me and my work ethic as the non-quitter, innovative, productive and mercurial (if they don’t know me well). I procrastinate because my best work comes under pressure. I’m not overly organized or anally-retentive neat but I’m always aware of the location of anything I need (e.g. pens, paperclips, paper, etc.) in relation to my proximity. I’m very “teach-able” (the exact word my lawyer used) in that I only need to be told once: I’m very malleable if whatever I’m working on includes an ineffective system set-up by my predecessor upon which I am called to reform/a situation calls for change. I strive to please but in that earnestness, I can be taken for granted and have had others take advantage of me/my work ethic. Years of operating a family business have shown me that being productive during slow downs/boredom can go a long way in loving what you do and buying time for recreation each time a task is completed ahead of schedule. With the jobs outside of it, I know my co-workers at Victoria’s Secret thought I was being underhanded (if a promotion was coming up), snobby if I wouldn’t stay and gossip on their down time and a brown-noser for taking up tasks “above my pay grade” (even though nothing really is and I never let it be known that my family owns a business because the hate comes out very quickly if someone thinks of you as not needing a job). “Stay busy and work hard” was the way my mom put it and I have with every job, especially if I have to be on my feet all day. That work ethic permeates almost aspects of my life whether or not I want to examine and admit it. It goes without elaboration that quitting was never spoken of and it never seemed to be an option. Thus, we come to the next chapter that’s become this year’s motif: learning when to give up and completely burn something to the ground.

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Update (12/7/2016): Forgive this very lazy addendum to the last night (how “last” remains to be seen – I enjoy being in the cross hairs of his scope and being pursued 😉 ) I spent with my cowboy. For now, I have to write him off since my Crohn’s hit me with a double whammy: I got sick over Thanksgiving due to overly rich food, Chinese style, and was rolling downhill kinda slow until the acceleration at his place. I pride myself on being self sufficient, having a pretty frigging high pain tolerance and needing no one’s assistance when I succumb to any/all of my chronic illnesses, all the while keeping a picture of managed health. I forget how bad my situation was back in 2006 when my health has been stabilized these past 3-4 years but holy hell, my cowboy had to drive me in my car home (instead of the ER he was adamant on) and the entire time I’m doing my best not to scream with every bump, pot hole, hard brake or pumped gas pedal but some escape anyway. The cold sweat beading on my head, constant swearing (I’d been watching my potty mouth cause I could see him wince when I was a bit too happily raging about whatever topic) and agony in every breath scared him. I talk to myself in a berating manner to get myself calm and to get through every crashing wave of pain but I’m sure most of his fear came from the image of blood left on his bed and my shrunken state…

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