Black women bottom of dating food chain
Instead we bottle up our emotions and put up facades that everything is okay even though we may be dying inside. He knows where to find me. If I am wrong, then we can joke about my foolish mistake into our dotage.
And sometimes in my scant book is just fucking fine. Then suddenly the mood might take me again. Some may say that being able to overcome adversity takes strength and knowing that you can survive tough times gives one a sense of self-empowerment. We have texted and plans are afoot but I have to tread with exceeding care. Makes two of us, probably.
If you dare fall apart, you are scrutinized as to what type of a black woman you are. He said something about my sleeping with Matt, then.
Growing up I kept conforming to this narrative because to me it was a compliment and an acknowledgment of my ability to overcome the challenges of life. It may not be packaged the way you expected. And another, Just Married, asking for the telephone number of an attractive friend of mine and flirting to fuck.
In which case what a double-whammy waste. Get her outta there before she back-slides into some ebonics-laden inarticulate mumbo jumbo tirade.
No better than this time yesterday. He has already had the rebound relationship, is single again and apparently very good news indeed.
What I have come to accept of late is that I am enjoying the benefits of planktonhood more than I have in the past. My sister says you have to meet someone three times before you write them off. She rarely draws attention to it and just does her job, but the hits keep coming. It may come across as modesty and humility, but can be really damaging through the lifecycle of your career. The discussion continues each year around how to close the wage gap, offering solutions to getting women equal pay with many starting in the workplace.
We are in touch and although he is raw, I have a low-key sort of optimism because of our history. Drove home listening to whoopingly-loud music and thought, with days like that I want to live for ever. Either way, not angling is fine with me. Desperate, sure, but perhaps not that desperate.
Not that I am going to do anything about it. Felt I had said everything already, over and over and over and was digging myself deeper into the plankton grave. She may not have gotten a letter like this one addressed to her at work, but she knows what this feels like. By amicably mutual agreement.
We are both free and available now and so the dot-to-dot seems entirely obvious to me. Though he did at one point tell me I was looking beautiful. If all that shit is his bag, I would be bending backwards like a fucking limbo dancer to have the honour of being with him, I think. This man was not deeply unpleasant, nor was he cold. Which leaves us with the old, old friend.
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