The Return of PPM

Wow.
I was at PetSmart today, minding my business, and my cell rang. PPM, who I haven't spoken to in months, decided to call. He must have broken it off with whoever he was seeing. You know? Maybe that's mean of me to write, but I feel like when he's got a dry spell, he messes with me for laughs. Then he had the nerve to say, "why are you acting like you're surprised to hear from me." Maybe because I am. "Why are you acting like I only call when I want something?" Maybe because you do.

I'm tired. Tired of dancing your dance. You had your chance. You blew it. You don't get another one. Happy for you, though. Happy that you bought your house, happy we got caught up, happy I had a small hand in getting you what you wanted at the office. But if you're calling me to see if anything has changed on my end, no. It hasn't. That's why although I thought of you when I drove past your house, I didn't call. That's why you don't come to mind that often, and why people at work have stopped giving me hell about you.

Or was that because you'd found someone else? Now that didn't work and you remember me?

Funny thing about that... I'm not free anymore. I'm through being the backup. Being your headcase to toy with wasn't as much fun as you may think.

I'm much stronger now. If I don't dress up every day, or press my hair, or make sure everything is in it's proper place, it's because the *outside* is not important to me. I'm too busy with other stuff to worry about hemlines and fabrics and this season's fashions. Yes, I pull my hair back, into the same uptight librarian bun as always. It's simple. It's practical, it doesnt get in the way, and it doesn't need styling, which affords me the time for other endeavors.

Sorry if that means to you that I'm not taking the time out to take care of myself. I'm too busy taking care of my future.

And I have come a long way, from what I was before, how I used to be with my looks, Thinking I was ugly and hiding alot from the world. Thing is, I'm hot. I'm so hot, I rock the hell out of the librarian bun. In fact, I'm bringing buns back.

And if you don't get that, then you don't really have a place in my life, do you?

Thanks for taking the time out, friend, to check up on lil ole me.

I'll be just fine. Scratch that. I AM fine, I'll *be* okay.

And if you wanted me, you're going to have to work a hell of alot harder than that to get me. So don't feel like you're doing me any favors by calling me.

This probably comes across a lot meaner than I intended, but I'm not changing any of it. It is what it is. I'm just tired. I don't get people who want to be friends with the intention of banging you. Just be friends. Go out. But we were never friends, were we? We were just two insanely attractive people who couldn't sort out the tension.

Isn't it a relief to know that it's all been sorted out? By hereby removing myself from the equation, we should never need to speak tensely again.

Love,

me