I think I have invented the newest brand of masochism. It is a rare strain where I think about the man I want to be with twenty times a day for no other reason than to slowly torture myself fully knowing I will never see him again. Every time I see something, read something, go somewhere that I think would interest him, I not only think about it, but then take it one step further and begin thinking about how nice it would be if we could talk about it. No, fleeting images and memories are not enough, not for the true masochist. This special brand of masochism comes complete with tearful what-if moments and scenarios.
What better way to spend the middle of the night than thinking of all the joys we could have brought each other and how I screwed it all up.
I should go into business with this sort of thing. You need something screwed up? Just send it over. “But is it absolutely perfect” you say. No, no, just send it over, I will take care of it for you. Won’t be perfect when I am done with it.
I guess my problem has always been my criteria. I was never compatible with my ex husband, even when we really wanted each other. Then the man that followed didn’t want me the same way I want him. Well, not in the end anyway.
So I have decided from now on, if I ever choose another man, I will use Skip-Bo as a determining factor. The rules of Skip-Bo are not terribly complicated, it is the strategy that gets everyone. Just like sudoku, all you need are basic counting skills, but the logic involved can get pretty intense. The way I see it, if a man is dedicated enough to me to learn the game and figure out how to beat me, not only has he proven devotion, but also high intelligence, and therefore is worthy of my time.
Not to mention a game of Skip-Bo takes forever, so that will give us plenty of time to talk, and for me to weed out any incompatibility issues.
In the meantime I will do the only thing I seem to know how to do, and fantasize about what I had with him, and what might have been. Then maybe I will go to sleep.