So here I am, still in Dubai, the temperature is about the mid 30s, staying in a hotel that makes faulty towers look like the Hilton. 6 hours away from my house,
old job earning some decent cash and yet still the ex finds a way to get in touch.
At this point im immune to it but on easter sunday she text me because she was bored and wanted stuff from me. Ink and a notebook sleeve none the less but why the hell me.
Being more than pleasant at this point due to the prevailing conditions and the madness that sets in with the heat always being around 30 degrees I txt back all nice and such and then the ultimate
She goes and tells me that she found a photo of me in her purse from a while ago. Am I really supposed to be this sucked in that easily. Dont get me wrong, its a grand old thought to think that your ex of 2 years still has a part of you tucked away with her and a smile can emerge on her face. This is where the problem lies
I so wish more than anything that this, any of it was true. I kid you not its almost painfull to think that it could.. just.. happen but then reality kicks in with a doc martin sized 9, splattering reality in your face saying “wake up”
Trawling through the mire of e-mail that gmail loves to store and analise, the final clearout of all ex related stuff has now gone. There is nothing there, not even chats to others trying to make sense of it all. As has been stated many times during the roof, mozzie biting fest, chats with people its all a case of just thinking.. thinking way to much.
On an entirely unrelated note, a promise once again has been made to start blogging more often purely down to ALL the source material thats been made available by the Ramada hotel. Tonight some women (very fit women at that) are aparantly going to cook for the boys on the roof, out of the blue only knowing us for one day.
There is an odds on bet that they are up to no good. After seeing them pretty much spot on every 4 days out of the blue and then last night offering to take ME clothes shopping after 30 mins of chatting to me… bringing a bottle of vodka out and then not drinking any but offering it to charles and shane… Something is indeed a foot