She Said We Needed to Talk

As has always been the case, this blog is as much about failure and struggle as it is about success (though, to be sure, there's been slow success by attrition if nothing else lately, no smashing, awesome stories of daring).

We hadn't spoken in the better part of a week.
Last I'd heard from her some last minute plans came up. I said have a great time and left it at that. Days later, I bit the silent bait and asked what she had been up to.

She replied with bullshit chit chat chatter.
I did the same.
She asked when I'd be free because we needed to talk.
I deferred until I was less busy.

It was probably a 2 minute conversation.
She didn't provide a reason, but as we all know, there's always a dude in the wings.
No girl casts off a man in front of her without another one barking up the tree.
I had seen as much from some messages to her on her mac/which had her text messages up.
I didn't confront her about who the guys were or how she knew them.
She'd given me the spiel before and we had split up for a time over it.

I accepted by taking her back into my life it would rear its head again, but I chose not to fight that battle. She had taken several steps down my list of priorities and I simply didn't care enough to draw a line in the sand with her over the topic.

Ultimately, though, perhaps that was my unforgivable sin. We no longer fought. We didn't argue. I wasn't a challenge.
I didn't care enough to be hurt and retaliate in a sense that her girl brain could comprehend as caring, for women virtually always interpret emotional reaction as caring rather than say annoyance, frustration, or irritation.

She threw in the usual, "I'm still here for you as a friend" to which I did not respond, save to say I wished her well, and bye.
I made sure to not belie any emotion in my voice, not that I was feeling any, save...perhaps, irritation at the depressingly predictable nature and dialogue of the interaction.

Rather than find fault with her or look at where I might have manipulated her differently or how I might flip the script and all that, I know that her vacuum will force me to start hunting again, something to which I have been exceedingly laconic as of late.

I've been so busy in the gym, and so single-minded in preparation for what that entails in the coming months, that chasing pussy has seemed, well, lowly and almost detestable as of late, more of a distraction than a priority or a desire.
The winter is a barren time for the hunt, but though I have options, I have simply not been willing to do the work.
If you want to eat, you have to hunt.
I have been subsisting on grass for awhile now and though it has kept my life predictably numb and agreeable, the tedium has grown a bit more pronounced.

I know where to go to find girls. I know what to say once we start talking, for the truth is that any pretext is sufficient to start the conversation. Against even the most daft and ditzy of the fairer sex, I can often carry the conversation, exude an air of genuineness, and even a bit of playfulness when the moment arises.
Yet, lately, I've not seen my great white whale. I've not seen a prize which has bewitched my eye.
I've been saving up my silver bullet for a werewolf but the moon has not shown.
It's time to get back in the saddle.
It's time to perhaps eat some grass in the form of a lower end pursuit.
It's time, like that octagon announcer proclaims loudly...."It's time."

    - Yrs. in Christ