I Am A Right Bastard

I should feel much worse about all of this, you know. The problem is that I don't.

How do I feel? Relieved, mostly. That's not exactly complimentary.

It's not very complimentary of me, for one thing. If ever there were a time to show a smattering of basic human emotions, now would be that time. And yet, here I sit, not wondering "why?" or "what can I do to fix this?" or even "what could I have done differently?", but instead "well, what am I going to do next?"

That's not "what am I going to do now?", mind you. There is no element of hopelessness here. Perhaps a tinge of regret for months wasted out of my life, but no regrets over the person involved.

Which brings me to the second uncomplimentary bit: one would think that there would be a bit more unhappiness here, if only as an affirmation and tribute to that which is gone. One would think, and one would be wrong.

It's almost too much of a change-over: I cared very much when she was here, and therefore I should care very much that she is gone, now. But I don't. I guess getting kicked in the face for a month or so was enough to burn though my supply of grief for this relationship. I had mourned for it before it was even over, and now I have nothing left for it.

How does she feel about all this? Well, I wish I cared.

I wish I cared about any of it.

But I don't.

And maybe that is the saddest thing of all.