The glass is half-empty lately.
This seems to be true for a lot of people; I'm on the brink of cruising into the weekend with plans to turn off the phone and hunker down to doing only what I feel like doing.

Yet another person that I dated called me.
No wait.
He text messaged me.
In this case, I called back. He picked up the phone happy and when I said something bitchy in lieu of a greeting, he said, "OHHHHHHHH! I meant to text Shanna."
Ah, yes, Shanna, the girl who makes you stutter when you say her name?
You texted me.
Own it.
Own the fact that I am not into talking to you.
It's not a big deal, it's not an ego-hit, and itís not anything but a fact.

He is the kind of person who took everything, EVERYTHING and made it personal. And when he didn't like the response because he felt that it was a personal attack, he tried to manipulate the response by saying something like, "Ohhhhhhhh, I meant to text Shanna.
But while I've conveniently got you on the phone, why do you hate me so much?"

You can't play a player, kid.

I've been ordered in every area of my life to not take things personally.

From my family, the message started early.

From work, it's been a consistent theme in my reviews.

From the dui, it was preached to me by my attorney and by the police. "Nobody wants you to feel badly about this. It's very minor, it's finished, stop crying already."

From my friends who I used to hear easing off of the phone as they sensed the impending, teary reaction from me when they say something like, "I know you like toast but I prefer a bagel."
"What do you MEAN?
What's wrong with toast?
What's wrong with you that you don't toast? Toast is harmless and it tastes good, especially with peanut butter. You can't put peanut butter on a bagel because it drips out the sides!
You leave toast alone!
You leave me alone!"

You don't even want the made-up conversations from relationships. I haven't had a single serious relationship where at least four times, the partner at the time didn't become immune to any tear that I shed.
They eventually soften back up but believe me, a relationship with a sensitive woman is no walk in the park, especially for men who hate to see a woman cry.
It was a train-wreck. Their manly, hair-trigger reflex had to be over-ridden to not include me crying and my sensitivity had to be over-ridden to not include his frustration on the list of things hurting my feelings.

Needless to say that old dogs actually do learn new tricks. I am many in dog years and yet I learned new tricks to deal with the over-senstitvity that can drive a good man to drink. I just have to apply a little more case management and a lot more....
I can act like it's rolling off my back and then go home and cry my eyes out like many other hyper-sensitive people.
OHHHHH Shanna, on the other hand, needs to see if Pima offers anything or maybe go to a workshop or something.
His acting sucks.

When it's been a long day, I don't want to come home to a telephone of bad acting. My day included such surreal events as being rear-ended by a nineteen year old, who actually said, "I reached down to get my sunglasses and then I hit her," the way a Driving Class movie might be acted out, with me as the Huffy Uncool Aging Lady and him as the Clean Teen Offender.
Luckily, his mom drove up in an SUV and thought I was 21.
This made me want to hug her and tell her that I messed up and I should have just let my car roll into the truck in front of me so that the citations could be shared by me and Clean Teen and whomever else we could get into the mix.
Of course I didn't, because..... the kid rear-ended me and that sucked.

Weird continued when I went to the skate park with the d-o-double-g and there was a 62 year old retired derby skater with a Louis Vuitton bag, her iPod, ripped up black tights, a mini-skirt, and an edgy black tee shirt who kicked my ass all over the track.

Then I get home and OHHHHHHHHH, Shanna! called and you know.... after that unpleasant walk down "Do you remember when I said we are very different people?" lane, I don't really care to speak to anyone for awhile.

Except for that kidís insurance company.

Call it me, being hyper-sensitive, and taking care of myself.

arizonasarah at 11:48 a.m.

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