I hooked up with someone shortly after I left Seattle for good. I took some leftover vicodin, drank some beers, got as trashily dressed as I could for an early fling and just went for it.

I had to do this. I had to nail the coffin shut by hooking up with someone else or else I would have literally never been able to leave my ex behind. I had to put a body between us.

So, I choose something polyamorous, a little bit feral, witty and with a high body traffic. Thinking "Well, I'm driving this rig drunk. So, I'm going to choose someone with skills because they're usually not too softhearted and if I accidentally injure them with my emotional drunk driving it won't be too bad. They're a veteran of many. They can deal with me."

What happened, happened. And is still happening. Although in the process, which became an extended process of weeks, things were said like "I hope I'm not a rebound". -wince-

And somewhere in my dark heart, a part of me says "You knowlingly took to bed a girl trashed out of her mind on chemicals and emotional grief -- and you think she was thinking clearly?"

In the daytime, we've go a minefield of incompatibilities. Including my preference for rougher sex. Among other things. But, now we've said 'I love you' because I was high.

And if someone says that too me, I'll probably say it back eventually. I don't lock that word very tightly. All the same, FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

"I don't want to hurt you but, I also don't think I have the emotional capacity for as serious a thing as this is becoming." I'd tell them this but, I don't want to hurt them. And who knows, maybe it would be good for me.

Sooooooooo, now we're stuck in a weird holding pattern where I regret everything but, can say nothing about it. They weren't supposed to be this soft. And they were not supposed to be this kind. Or maybe both. They could have been both. But, they should have realized I wasn't entirely home upstairs in the moment.