I'm sitting here nursing my wounds today. I know it was a stupid thing to do, running after him as he sped away in his truck, but I thought that maybe, if i ran fast enough, showed him I was trying hard enough, he wouldn't drive off like an asshole. But I forgot that he is an asshole, and that gravity and coordination are enemies of mine.
So I now have my first skinned knee in at least 12 years. Also an assortment of pulls, aches, bruises, and fractures (i suspect...the tip of one finger isn't so hot, and my two smallest toes on the left foot aren't so grand themselves) Thank god for my mother, and her industrial sized tub of vicodin.
Now he's gone for the next 3 days. After he found out I was hurt he acted semi-civilized while I explained what an assuming asshole he was, and outlined how hard I'd been working to get some sort of a job/work off the ground while I was "sitting on my ass for 40 hours a week on the computer". He seemed like he almost understood the magnitude of his own assholeism, and showed it by getting up two hours before he was supposed to go away and "maybe get hooked up with this band" to go out and buy me bandages/neosporin/hydrogen peroxide.
I am moderatly thankful, but I know he'll never realize he's an asshole before he says/does the meanest, most unthinking thing possible. I wish I had the balls to just stand up and say "Stop it, just let me cut my losses now". But I have this crazy belief that things could be better again. I know its horseshit though, but what really keeps me is the fear that this is the best I could get.
I dont really want to be alone, but I dont want to be with the kind of guy I attract either.
