It's very natural to descend into a mudpool of self-doubt
When a string of relationships end either prematurely, tragically, or before they even begin.
It used to be the simplest way to get on after a break-up -
Blame it on the guy, attach faults to him like needles on a voodoo doll.
These days I'm finding it a little trickier.
When things aren't going like creamy peanut butter on fresh white bread,
I'm more likely to 1. think about bailing; followed by 2. be struck by a momentary streak of guilt for being a compulsive impulsive quitter; then 3. think if it's really me.
As I walked out of an ex's front door for the last time 2 years ago, he told me that I'd never find another person to love me for all my crazy quirks and temperament.
I was a little more than just shaken. Definitely stirred too.
Not in the least by the audacity this guy displayed right after I'd found out that he'd been cheating on me.
But I was starting to worry that he had a point. A good one too.
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In the split second - you have a choice of stepping on the accelerator or brakes.
I'd choose the brakes.
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I subscribe to the view that if it's really right,
You wouldn't feel that compromising is an effort.
I'd take panda eyes, limited wardrobe space, sweaty mornings and Velvet abstinance
Without a blink.
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