You've been on vacation for a week again...I had my fifteen minutes of fame. Not that it was a big deal. I get that once a week these days, vacation or no vacation.

Do you know what I want?

I want you out of my life or in my life. I want you to make up your fucking mind or un-makeup your fucking mind.

I am tired of remembering the discussion of children and a family. These petty games are driving me mad. When I mention another man, you go out of your way to mention her. It makes me want to vomit.

My stomach flips and rises to my throat when friends speak of their persons...Everyone seems to think that the best will prevail. I know this isn't true.

I know what you thought of me. We've had this discussion too many times. I'm beginning to think, not without evidence, that maybe I was TOO perfect for you. Everynight I ensured dinner was on the table or at your job. Every single time I made sure you paid the bills on time since you were so forgetful. Every errand, every time I flat ironed my hair and touched up my makeup. Everytime I struggled to make sure I was beautiful for you. It didn't go unnoticed. You told me the other day that you never saw me with a hair out of place. You never worried about what you would eat that night or how you would get off work to go to the bank. You never worried about a thing when you were with me...

Okay, I lie. You worried about keeping your secrets from me. You did your damndest to make sure I never found out about Amber or the bartender or the waitress...or...

I was too clever for you. "Blind faith," you'd say every time I came to close to unearthing your nasty truths.

I'm not done...I'll never be done. I am pathetic. I am what you have created, a loyal, beaten dog...