You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

-Dr. Seuss, "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch", (c) 1957

*Sigh*

It's like excising a tumor, getting rid of a man who's gotten in. It's a painful and painstaking process, whether the relationship was measured in weeks or years. Initially, you feel as though you're suffocating in the him-ness of the world around you, but you lick your wounds and carefully unweave what's been woven and slowly extract yourself from the mess and sad and wrath, and before you know it, it's been a year and he's barely a flicker in the slideshow.

And then the fucker pops up again, when and where you least expect him.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Mr Guile has resurfaced. If you'll recall, it was the Rather Brutal Ending of that short but intense relationship that led me to start this (very sparse) blog. It's been about a year since we'd last connected in any way. It's been just enough time that I'd edited the story in my mind and pretty much ceased thinking of him at all, except in the extremely abstract.

Then suddenly he's there at bloody church cavorting with MY PEOPLE! I did what any grown-up would do: I snuck covert peeks until I confirmed that it was him, then pretended I hadn't seen him. I avoided that man like he was a rat in plague season. Actually, to my credit (and dismay), I didn't even notice him at first. I don't know if that's progress or funky brain chemistry.

So, he waits the obligatory day and a half, then sends me the white flag email. Hits all the right notes: breezy and casual, remorseful and snarky. Apologizes for being a prick (his word, though I can't help but agree), drops more of the IshouldhavekeptintouchbutI'msobadaboutthat, hopetokeepseeingyoumaybewecangettogetherforcoffeesometime, blah blah type chatter. Of course I responded in kind, but there's so much else I would have loved to ask.

Mr. Guile, what are you hoping to accomplish? Are you merely trying to make a potentially awkward situation a little less so? in which case, I commend you, since I likely would have continued on the "ignore it and it'll be like it's not there" path. Are you hoping to find absolution for old demons or guilt by making nice-nice to me now? Is it friendship you're hoping for? Rekindled romance? Do you even know?

Then, while we're being honest and open, there are a bunch of other things I could tell you. Like how enraged I am that after all this time, the shock of seeing you nearly knocked me over. Like that in some ways, I'm still so terribly hurt and angry over how things went down between us. Like how I have to admit (squirming, uncomfortable) that a not-insignificant part of me immediately wondered if this was a sign that we should start things again, and how that thought simultaneously filled me with joy, foreboding, and much discomfort. Like how the chemistry between us is intense enough – at least on my end – that merely being in the same room made me woozy and wobbly-kneed.

Seriously? Go directly to hell, Mr. Guile. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Do not mess with my head or my heart again. I need this right now like I need an extra set of tits.