The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend Chronicles Eleventh Entry

<--- Tenth Entry Getting dumped is like a blindside sack. You take the snap, feeling good about how the game is going. You drop back, liking how the play is unfolding. Your options are open, your protection is good, and everything is great. Then BAM!, you’re on you back. You never saw it coming. (sorry, watching Monday Night Football right now). I was at work when I got sacked. I got the text message that will forever be burned in my brain: I’m not happy anymore. That message was the beginning of the weirdest 25 days of my life. We had a fight that night. After the customary crying on her part, I offer to sleep in the spare bedroom. She laughs and insists on me not sleeping there at all. Something about needing ‘space’ or something. Whatever. I was homeless. We still saw each other every few days and we still had sex a few times. I saw her more often when her car was stolen and she needed me. Ironic. I was being used. She was very cold one day and warm the next. It was like some bi-polar condition that switched every 22.5 hours. She had turned into this small volcano of indecisiveness that erupted at random, unexpected intervals. First, the kicking me out was supposed to be for a few days, then it became day-to-day. Second, we ‘were not breaking up’, then she was ‘beginning to not like me’. It was all funny, but it wasn’t. I was her emotional punching bag. I'm not a pussy by any means, but I was a gaping vagina that month. Yes, gaping. Twelfth Entry --->