Fuck.

Tonight I was at a party celebrating an engagement. That happy couple coupling ever further is a universal good. I am a big fan of both of them and know they’ll be well and good lives together.

Fuck.

The problem is that I know this happy couple through Natalie and John mentioned earlier on this site. (She’s sometimes called The Recently Lost One or, to be more accurate it should be The One That’s Moved On, they used to collectively be part of the triumvirate called The Situation(tm).)

Fuck.

So tonight (now last night by the time I was done with this shit) I spent with them, all the mutual friends of Natalie and John and the couple, being happy for the couple coupling more while the former couple that I used to be part of sat next to each other, poked at each other in subtle and vicious ways. Having to hear about Natalie’s new love, her new man or whatever she calls him and her thoughts of plans with him, all night long was no fun at all.

Fuck.

I did this soley for the experience. It would have been too easy to walk away at that moment. Also, way too easy, to lose control and scream FUCK YOU over and over. Don’t think I didn’t want to. FUCK YOU. Don’t think that drinking a whole lot of beer wasn’t a way to dampen the turmoil in my mind. FUCK YOU. If anything being drunk only enhanced the moment, made me more conscious of everything in that moment, hyperware of that fucking moment. Fuck me for doing that to myself. A big ol’d fuck me to me.

Fuck.

But that moment wasn’t about me. It was about the engaged couple so I bit my tongue and played the nice guy and went along my merry way afterward on a walk where I blew off steam by hitting poles and walls. It is amazing how much give some walls have.

Fuck.

I should have saved money and had a lot of water. Hydration is fun and it’s good for you! Everybody should be better hydrated!

Fuck.

It is so frustrating having no place to put feelings. To be human and live in a skin that needs to be connected and won’t just turn off the memories and the desires. Flip and they’re gone would be wonderful…Spotless Mind…

Fuck.

Yeah, that’s what I should have done. I should have gone out afterward and found someone to fuck, eight or nine times that night, and swaddled myself in pheromones to make the process of moving on funner and faster. Four Bridgeport IPAs and a penchant for inward immolation is not conducive to getting laid.

Fuck.

And aside from one line written in the notebook, the writting done when I got home was shit and that might have been the most frustrating part of it all. Wasted beer. Wasted night (but still happy for the couple being closer coupled) putting myself in a crazy uncomfortable situation. Relishing being a little bit of the old me, quiet and aloof, watching the action, removed from humanity instead of saying the fuck you’s the primal part of my mind would much rather have been saying.

Fuck.