picking up the pieces, not in an average white band sort of way

Oh, y'all.

I have never been so excited for Monday to arrive and the work week to begin as I was this morning. Because I knew that in the office, at my desk, it would be near about impossible for me to get into any trouble.

And frankly, after the weekend I had, that is JUST the kind of security I was looking for.

I spent most of Sunday feeling like, well, how can I put this? Look at the bottom of your shoe. Anything stuck there? Good. Now imagine a life form about 75 levels LOWER than the scum you squished in your sneakers and you'll almost have it.

I'm going to spare you the details, and PLEASE trust me on this one y'all, you would thank me for that if you only knew. But the moral of the story probably won't shock you at all: I royally, completely and monumentally fucked things up with Mr. November. Fucked, fucked, fuuuuuucked right on up. Probably irreparably. I wouldn't be surprised if the only reason he speaks to me again is to retrieve the rest of his growler of Ghost River beer that we got when we went on the brewery tour Saturday. Which, incidentally, was awesome and prior to my personal Chernobyl and its subsequent fallout.

All exaggerations aside, I screwed up pretty bad and I suspect this weekend might be the last I'll hear from Mr. November. Despite all our differences, I really enjoyed spending time with him. And whether as a date or a friend, I'll be surprised if he's willing to spend any time with me any time soon. Or ever.

We'd spent almost the whole day together on Saturday and gone out with some of his friends and it had been such a good night. And then the awkward train rolled into the station, and I was wearing stripey overalls and a conductor's hat. Choo effing choo. And you know the worst part, really? I've been on the receiving end of this particular brand of human error more than a few times. And it SUCKS. And I liked to think that I wasn't a person who did things like this to other people. But apparently I'm human. And I make mistakes, and have the capacity to hurt. And that realization has been perhaps the hardest pill to swallow.


cheers,
elizabeth