I was philosophizing in the shower this morning and came to a conclusion: I’m not going to get over this girl until I sleep with another. I don’t want to sleep with another girl because I still want to sleep with this one, which is just a part of me missing her, but it’s the only way I’ll get over her. And that upsets me. Because it makes me sound like little more than a junkie jonesing for his next hit. (I’ve previously touched on the idea that love is a drug.) I should have the willpower to be happy alone. To not let my stupid brain think about her and romanticize our admittedly awesome sex. I’m a smart guy. I read books. I shouldn’t base my happiness entirely around getting laid. Sex is just really awesome and it’s always jarring when it stops. I think there is a synergy of sadness in breakups that consists of heartbreak compounded by a sudden cessation of having regular sex. “You need to get under someone to get over someone.” Am I doomed to forever be trapped in a loop of thinking about the last girl until a new one replaces her? Ugh, what a dismal thought.
I was playing a monologue out in my head this morning and throughout the day of a hypothetical meet wherein I would make an absolute fool of myself and basically put everything on the line, but I’m holding off on that particular disasterpiece for a few weeks. I need to distance myself for a while and give her a chance to feel the absence too. I’m going out of town next week anyway, which is perfect.