The urge

It's happening again.

That urge.

The urge to reach out and talk to an ex.  The urge haunts me like that monster in my closet who wouldn't go away until I turned 9.  That big, scary, ugly, boogy-man creature that just pestered my mind and tormented me so it was hard to fall asleep in my youth.  What the heck is a boogy man any way and how come my parents could never describe him?  I digress....

I hate this urge.   I know I shouldn't cave in.  I mean, I really, really know better.  I swear I do. 

But, it is easier to act upon the urge rather than just accept things the way they are which is just downright currently craptastic.  My current state of being is burgeoning on a miserable state of mind.

My typical self conversation goes something like this...

"Screw it.  I should just call him and explain that I don't hate him any more.  And tell him I forgive him. And that I believe him and accept his apologies."

"Wait, no.  I deserve better.  Or do I?  Is being alone worse than being with someone who prefers frozen pizzas from Wal-Mart and a DVR movie over a nice meal out on the town without a stupid gift card or coupon?"

"Crap.  Sometimes being frugal is better.  I mean, did I really need that 2nd pair of boots?"

"Wait, no.  Sometimes spending money can buy you an immediate place of zen-li-ness.  My new boots bring me a constant state of well-being."

"Crap.  I'm better off without him.  Seriously.  His house should be featured on A&E's Hoarders.  I don't need that burden."

"Wait, no.  Some people aren't as anal retentive as I am about folding clothes, how a tooth brush should be properly stored and what the right way to hang toilet paper is.  BTW, the correct manner in which to merchandise TP in the home is the OVER technique."

"Crap.  I miss our long nights on the couch making each other laugh.  Belly laugh in sync."

"Wait, no.  There's some good stuff on Reno 911!  And, the always satiable Entertainment Tonight is bound to make a fool out of some D-list celebrity which will inevitably make me piss my panties laughing.  Seriously, Bristol Palin on Dancing with the Stars?  (I would have preferred Levi Johnson)."

"Crap.  I miss his hugs."

"Wait no.  My body length pillow is fine enough."

"Crap.  I miss his phone calls."

"Wait...yes.  Should I call him?  No.  Wait, yes.  No.  Wait, yes.  Oh hell, I don't know..."

"Get it together.  Seriously.  I'm starting to think I have voices in my head.  Wait...do I?  Oh holy hell...Shit.  Do I?  Or is it just paranoia?  Do I hear something?  No.  Wait, yes.  Was that a voice?  Yes.  Oh shit, I'm scaring myself.  Oh, wait...it was the neighbor outside talking on the phone.  Thank gawd.  I was starting to worry myself....or was I?  Now I'm just paranoid.  Or am I?"

And then I decided it was time to hit the hay and start this internal drama all over on the flip side.