running shoes on and tightly tied

“It’s so not happening,” I told PK.

“OK, well, at least you gave it a chance and didn’t run screaming for the hills,” she supported my decision, a contrast to her previous advice of sticking it out.

“Yeah, I’m just bummed, bummed that it wasn’t me being weird and squirmy, bummed that it’s him. I tried and it turns out it’s not going to work.” I then went into detail about the last conversation and how it left me uneasy, left me feeling like I wasn’t heard because I wasn’t. And then I began outlining the nuisances that were getting on me nerves. Eventually I said, “Why am I talking about this like we have been together for 2 years and I’m not putting up with his shit any longer? I barely know him. It’s just not happening.”

KC agrees with me that he is strange.

LS tells me that me running away is OK even though she too was originally telling me to stick it out.

Friends, what would I do without them? They are my barometers, my litmus test. Because in the beginning and during rough patches, friends have your back. The boy is the culprit, the evil one, when things go bad. And when things are good, or if you patch things up, then the boy is a good guy. Because in the end, your friends’ don’t really care about the boy, they care about who you are with him. They monitor your behavior, your words, your phrases, and your running shoe use. Girlfriends are possibly the best thing God made. And I ain’t kiddin’ about that. I just wish girlfriends also played the role of relationship secretary, cause I could sure use an assistant to do the official “calling off.” I hate confrontation. I hate letting people down. And this is part of the running shoes saga. It’s so much easier for me to run away immediately then risk the boy getting close and hurt when I know early on that it ain’t happening. I need to purchase some walking shoes and learn how to curtsey so that I can bow out of things gracefully.

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