“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
~Albert Einstein
When the past tries to repeat itself what do you do?
I hide in the closet behind all the clothes, facing the wall…
But seriously. When you see yourself; on your ass; sliding down that same old slippery slope—what’s your strategy?
I take out my contacts and pretend I can’t see the colossal shitstorm bearing down on me…
Like the ostrich and the toddler playing peek-a-boo, if I can’t see it—it didn’t happen.
Bad decisions. Lousy choices.
In men, jobs, tankini bathing suits, and those nachos drenched in the horrific orange plastic cheese at the movies.
Why do I always think “this time it’ll be different?”
Humanity at large; and women in general, possess the “benefit of the doubt” chip.
As a card carrying member of both of those groups you can rest assured that many, many, questionable, less than desirable people and situations have benefited from my doubts.
That is until a friend along the way reminded me of the quote above by Albert Einstein.
It was the polite way for her to deal me the insanity card.
For a few years my entire deck was filled with insanity and jokers. I gave everyone another chance
.
“That’s okay.” I’d reply out loud.
“Hurt me again” my heart echoed silently.
Until I had had enough.
He cheated and cried. Big alligator tears of remorse. Then he did it again.
Apparently he had a complete lack of impulse control. When his dick saw a pretty girl it chased her down and dragged him along with it. So sad really. Such a sacrifice.
“It’s just sex, it’s not love!” he pleaded.
Was that supposed to make me feel better?
I was all doubted out. I gave no more benefits.
Even though he had begged, once again, for my forgiveness, I packed all of his shit into my car; drove it an hour to his apartment; and because I could hear him just having loveless sex from the street— I left everything on the sidewalk under his window.
And that my friends was the road back to sanity.
Teeny tiny postscript…
I had a temporary lapse about six months later. Hey, it happens!
Our chemistry was still intact, hotter than hot; I needed to get laid, and there may have been some Margaritas involved.
He swore he had never stopped loving me.
“What about the others?” I inquired. He knew what I wanted to hear, so he obliged. “Baaaabeeee” he cooed, kissing my neck, “I haven’t been with anyone in months, I’m concentrating on work.”
The lie caused his pants to go up in flames, but I never even noticed.
He had broken that unwritten rule, you know the one—he had stopped playing fair. Everyone knows neck kissing is the Universal signal for: You are one minute away from insanity… And away I went…
“Oh My God! He did it to me AGAIN!”
My screams reverberated throughout the entire house. “I truely AM insane!”
After I finally composed myself it was time to come clean (pun intended).
“We have crabs” I shamefully informed my roommates as I burned the bath towels, stripped all the beds and threw away my favorite pair of jeans.
Several days, many hours of creepy itchiness, and three bottles of anti-lice medicine later I had learned my lesson for good.
The Universe will up its game if you don’t get the message the first thirty-five times.
“The guys a louse” it said, biting its tongue, trying its best not to say: I told you so.
Point taken.
You can close your mouths now and Carry on,
xox
