Wandering through this galaxy I laughingly refer to as Todd the Bod (I'm not entirely sure why I call it that), I have come to one conclusion... and that there is no conclusion. Yeah, yeah, that sounds vaugely uniteresting and frankly - I don't give. For a while I was involved with someone. No, it wasn't one of those made-for-TV docudramas like the Lifetime Netowrk loves to air repeatedly. It was something that I thought was worthwhile. Like an art project that was going to take longer than fifteen minutes and a box of shitty Crayola knockoffs.
Well, needless to say, some men just aren't willing to put forth the effort. Yes, I can be a shrew and bitchy and mean and downright Wakka-wakka (still trying to decipher what the Hell "wakka-wakka" means). But after offering ways of rebuilding a relationship and recieving no response - I've grown weary of trying. I feel like what William Wallace would have felt if he had kept living. The whole: "Now what the fuck do I do?" syndrome. So, rather than push a beaten horse through another race I have waved the white stretchy pants of peaceful separation.
Resolution of the next five minutes: try not to cuss like a drunken sailor when his name pops up. Wait... okay... nevermind. I thought we were about to have a mental relapse and go into OMFGYFSAYNUP!! Which is just an overtly and unncesessarily long acronym for: Oh my fawking God... something... something uber pwnage.
Love you.