I can’t help thinking of the women I’ve hurt in my life. It’s never in a purposeful manner, or even in a way that could’ve been helped. Sometimes there’s no other choice but for one person in the equation to get hurt, and sometimes it’s the girl and sometimes it’s me.
But, I suppose, in my experience it’s mostly been the girl. I’m just good – no, not good but, like, accustomed to – walking away and forgetting about it. Shrugging my shoulders and saying, Whatever, and being mad for a week but resentful forever. Break ups haven’t gotten easier and I take each of them as hard as the last – it’s just that at this point I’m used to them.
Alright that might be the saddest fucking thing I ever acknowledged in my entire fucking life.
Anyway. I can’t help thinking of the women that I’ve hurt because I’m beginning to see my comeuppance. I just can’t hold onto the women that are crucial to me, the ones that I can’t stop thinking about, the ones that I see a future with. The ones that my brain tagged with potential for whatever subjective reason (occupation, hairstyle, love of animals, square jaws, etc.). I just can’t get to a point with one of the crucial ones where I can even begin to determine if there’s a future. I keep faltering at Step Zero-Point-Zero-One.
(Though there is a small piece of my consciousness that whispers to me: Psst – you only think they’re crucial because you can’t get them, you piece of shit. All of the ones you attained, all of the ones that you proceeded to the next step with, you deemed uncrucial. Grow the fuck up.)
So anyway, we were talking about my comeuppance. I mean, there are girls who read my texts and then don’t text me back IMMEDIATELY or sometimes AT ALL, thus forcing me to skew the consequential text message ratio BY SENDING THEM A SECOND CONSECUTIVE MESSAGE! That’s the kind of savage shit that I pull when I want to send a hint to a girl that I’m not interested. Jesus fucking Christ, that shit stings. I had no idea. The gods are getting their revenge and I’m seeing the wheel of karma…
Wait, no – okay, this is a fake comeuppance. Do you see what I’m trying to do? I’m trying to fool the gods: Ha ha ha! Okay, you got me, Gods! You got me back for all of my transgressions, for the path of broken hearts that I left in the cities around the world in which I trampled. You got me back for my cavalier attitude, my carelessness, the merciless way in which I’d depart a relationship while keeping my foot in the door, while tossing a loaded text message or email every six months to remind them that I exist. You got me back for all of that, and now we are even.
It’s like I’m proclaiming that this is my comeuppance, just to get it over with as quickly as possible, to get me off the hook and back into the cushy driver’s seat where it’s only my hand on the steering wheel. What the fuck. People who are authentically being comeuppanced don’t say they’re being comeuppanced. They don’t even know. They’re too busy curled up in a closet, weeping and snotting into their sleeve to even give a shit. Jesus, is this how manipulative I’ve become? Is this how much artificial control that I think I have? That I think I can fool the gods? That I can fool motherfucking Karma?
We’re not even close to even, are we? Goddamnit, this is going to sting.