Today was one of those days when I wanted to call all of my ex's that never totally got over me.
I'm aware this seems pretty self-indulgent, at best, cocky and narcissistic more likely. I forgive myself for that today.
I've had a difficult couple of weeks. Lots of things in upheaval, lots of stress, lots of loneliness.
Today I wanted to hear that I'm lovable, I'm a catch, that I inspire him to be a better man, that I'm sexy and desirable and unforgettable. Instead I found myself waiting for a call from a man who, while he may very well think those things, has his head caught elsewhere right now. (Without getting too far into it, it's somewhere his head should be, not something sketchy and questionable.)
Waiting for a call, no matter how much I end up accomplishing in the meantime, is quite possible my least favorite thing in the entire world.
I feel a little proud of myself that I did restrain myself from calling any of my ex's. Even the one that is totally over me and legitimately my friend. The one I did talk to (he called me!) was just for a minute, and I didn't indulge in any ego-masturbation at all, even though he was practically begging for it. (He said he called just to tell me I would have beautiful babies one day. We're trying to be friends.)
Instead of any of these phone calls I worked out and am about to have a nice big mostly liquid dinner. I think this is a healthy trade-off, at least on my mental health scale. Cheers.