Wish I could shut my playboy mouth...

I.... am wiped. Emotional exhaustion translated into physical exhaustion, muscles still sore from being held tense to the point of tiny vibrations for all my waking hours since Wednesday morning.

Now it's Friday.

I've been in the office since 745AM. Plugging away.

GV8... I don't know. I have no idea what is going on. Trying to be okay with that. Trying to steel myself for the phone call telling me that this is not going to work out.

Panic flooding my body, waves of anxiety battering my brain, trying to communicate to him in a calm, coherent fashion.

Never able to articulate exactly what I was trying to tell him.

That we were never able to keep it only physical.

That every time we tried to back off, tried to keep it distant and monitored, we'd keep coming back, keep on that path into love, into emotional involvement.

I've never done that with a lover before. I'm too good at the withdrawal game. Too good at my checks and balances to ever get caught like that.

And, with his 400+ sex-partner/two serious relationships ever track record, I think it's safe to say that it doesn't happen often to him either.

It means something.

It's so rare.

I don't know what he's doing today. I don't know if I will see him again, though I hope I will. I've packed a bag for the weekend on the off chance that he might want to see me. Of course, I usually have a bag packed for the weekend for "just in case" adventures.

Things were... really hard on Wednesday. My system, as I mentioned, has not yet recovered, and food consumption is... risky. I'm not exactly unable to keep it down, but eating is rather unpleasant.

And, as you all can probably tell, my coherency and writing ability have hit all-time lows. Fractured, disjointed sentences, repetitive words, generic crap, I just can't think right now.

I bought him dessert from the restaurant my family went to for Thanksgiving. I stole a fork (which I, sadly enough, feel guilty about) because he hasn't gotten his silverware unpacked, drove to the apartment, put it in the fridge, tied the fork into the knot of the bag, left my copy of Richard Lange's This Wicked World on his bed, and a note on his computer letting him know there was something in the fridge for him. And that I stole a fork and he's corrupting me with his criminal ways.

Anxious about what the future will bring, my control-freak nature attempting to be leashed because there is absolutely nothing more I can do but wait.

Proud of myself for finally facing that fear, that fear that has kept me so in line since... who knows how long? I felt like I took a sledgehammer to the wall I have erected inside myself and a tiny brick fell out.

But it was the hefting of the hammer that meant the most.

Afraid that, if he rejects my suit like I think he will, that my fears will solidify even further, and I will have to fight myself from withdrawing even farther from future men in my life.

Wondering how badly it will devestate me.

And what I will have to do to keep that tiny hole in my wall from being filled again with the schrapnel from the fall-out.

Feels like I've laid tiny emotional grenades in myself, waiting for the footsteps to track over them.

I'm going to call him on my lunch break and see if he wants to see me tonight.

And try to deal with it when he likely says no.

But I'm going to keep putting myself out there until he says no. No matter how afraid it makes me, I'm going to do this.

I will face this.

I will not let this wreck me.

I will not let my fears control me.

I will become more than this.

I will learn to love with my whole heart again.