Dear John

Fuck me, I love John Mayer. I love his music. All of it. The man just moves me.

I just had a bath with John. Bottle of red, candles, bubbles, the whole nine yards. Was a beautiful thing.

While in the tub, I was flirting dangerously close to the line with someone who lives with his girlfriend. Not in the disrespectful way. In the "he'd been drinking and was looking for validation and I just told him that I'd consider fucking him if he weren't in a relationship which he is so moot point" way. He's smart, attractive, a little cocky which for some reason turns me right the fuck on...and I find it all too easy to call him on his BS and tell him flat out "consider yourself validated let's move on..."

So I'm in the dark place. Still. And I still miss sex. A lot. Frustration makes me say fuck a lot. Fuck.

I went to R's tonight after work. I had left a hoodie there a couple of months ago. So seeing him is always hard and a let down and increasingly easier every time but still a drag. Then I got stuck in traffic for an hour with no a/c in 28 degree weather. On Monday a semi's second trailer unhitched in front of me on deerfoot and I can honestly say that I could have died, so me and and traffic are on the outs. I blame R. Not for the semi, but for getting stuck in traffic. The best part of the whole trip was his brother telling me "You look really good from far away."

Really?

Thanks, Benny.

Fuck.