Relationships are a funny thing. It's only once you're far enough removed from them that you start to see aspects of them in a different light. I thought I was on top of my last one as far as interpretation goes, that I was reasonably safe from fallout and trauma: I was the one who caused all the grief, not the victim so much, right? Everything went better than expected...

But after finding a good amount of my stuff cut through with scissors (thirty condoms, twelve shirts, six DVDs, two books, two jackets, one camelbak) a few weeks after she left my house, plus her continued insistence on showing up wherever I want to go (simple case of common interests, or her stalking me like crazy---my paranoia insists: it must be obsession), has left me feeling a little like I should have got the hint a long time ago, like, sometime around the time I dumped her the second time. It should have stuck.

(I find out later that she didn't cut these things up right before she left in one last violent act of aggressiveness, no, she actually cut up things I wouldn't notice while we were together. Since she lived with me she had a good survey of shit I didn't ever touch, so when she'd get angry at me and running didn't quell it, she'd take scissors to my things. I don't know how long this went on for before she left, but it makes my "Please don't stab me in my sleep" jokes I told her in our final weeks seem a lot less funny now.)

In the end a lot of my problem with her was just that she never gave me enough space, not in the relationship, and now out of it I still feel like she's all up in my grill, clogging my pores. If I'm not masturbating over memories of our sex life, I'm getting angry in my head over what a rude cunt she is. My body can't take this much stress, all this dissonance between mind, heart, and cock!

On top of that it's complete bullshit that she's the female in this relationship, with the tits and the ass, because when it comes down to it any mutual friends you made while together, especially if they're guys or older single women (the "unmarrieds", as it were, of the internet), are going to stick to the tits and the ass---familiarity and desire are two things a guy trying to get people to choose sides can't possibly compete with. "Choosing sides" is obviously not the 'solution' but I don't think there is a solution in these situations.

In the end, us men, we fight a losing battle. We're doomed to failure to begin with, by extension of being men in this modern world---can't look at kids without worrying people think we're pedophiles; can't look at women without worrying about being accused of sexism---so when it comes down to a social battle between you and your ex-special lady, we're just screwed. The bitches will always win, and we'll skulk off licking our wounds, declaring ourselves gentlemen because instead of showing up and making a scene, we took a powder, ran and hid, and just handed the whole world over to her.