I'm still in a bit of a panty-bunch. Fer real.

It's kind of remarkable that a 31 year old woman who more or less has her shit together can be so emotionally derailed by romance funktitude. By now, the whiplash has worn off and I'm starting to accept that things with Mr. Guile are on ice...probably permanently. So, okay. We were only dating for a few weeks - I can't imagine that there'll be much of anything like the mourning process of ending a real relationship. But goddamn. Every once in a while the Sad just kind of creeps up on me, and I want to lay down and wail. For those few weeks, it was good. Really good. There's nothing quite like the bite of that loss.

Letting go. *Sigh*