with a whimper

My little two-month old relationship (which I didn’t write about here because the fellow in question and my extended family read this blog) is over. It would have been convenient and considerate had D bothered to tell me such things, but I have been able to deduce my own conclusions from a week of no responses to my attempts to contact him. Either he’s dead (in which case the relationship is over) or he doesn’t want me in his life anymore. Or maybe the theory a friend and I dreamed up about temporarily paralysis of the fingers and voicebox caused by an unfortunate run-in with a poisonous frog is true.

Maybe it’s overwork and being busy with the other things going on in my life, but I’m finding it hard to work up much anger or sadness about it. (I spent about a half hour listening to angry girl music a few nights back). Mostly, I’m just annoyed with the way he handled it.

The symmetry of it is kind of perversely satisfying, though. A relationship that began ridiculously and immaturely, making out in a park at the end of our first meetup, ends ridiculously immaturely.

[insert cliché of the “there’s more fish in the sea” or “you have to kiss a lot of frogs…” variety here.]