The Rebound Game

Eighteen

No. I don't mind.  There is nothing you can't tell me. I won't judge. Our conversation is confidential.

I can't believe after all this long I still have the counseling script in my head.

 Christian sends two laughing emojis followed by:
       
In as much as I would love to trouble you with episodes from my not so interesting life, I am sleep deprived

 Oh the time difference. It must be really late there because it's six p.m according to the dusty clock hanging on the wall above the dining table.

I wish him a goodnight and proceed with the agenda that brought me to this particular platform. I am about to send my ex a text.

Yes, you read that correctly. No, I am not drunk or under any influence of any drug whatsoever. You don't think it shouldn't be such a big deal? Try texting your ex and when his sorry ass leaves you on read, it will be our little joke.
       
Oliver is currently offline. His last seen reads yesterday at 2 pm. You think it's a sign I shouldn't bother him or you know, embarrass myself further, right? Hmm, I choose to go with the option that scares me the most.
       
 Hi Oliver.
       
 It sounds lame but better than adding I miss you at the end. Don't you think?

         
***

You are entitled to be stupid, once in a while. I mean come on, life would be boring if we were all perfect. But there is an exception. In fact, this should be made a law. If I ever make it a mission to get my priorities right and become one of those influential women who vie for positions in the government, I would pass it as a bill on the first chance I get.

 It will be drafted as follows;
     
 The law forbids a woman under the age of twenty nine to send a text message or call  an ex lover within the first twenty months of separation.
   
The law does not recognize the following circumstances as emergencies that warrant communication between the estranged couple:

The woman runs into the gentleman's pet in a different part of town, possibly lost.

The woman is lurking in the gentleman's neighborhood clad in her black hoodie trying to observe him undetected, and finds that his apartment is on fire...

  I should send my resume for the post of a screenwriter for legal drama shows. It could save me from making worse decisions, because it is apparent that I am capable of doing everything in my power to embarrass myself.

 I know you are dying to know what happened. I will not keep you guessing, I am dying to share as well. Oliver was not even supposed to reply to that text in the first place. I mean I sent it in a fleeting moment of insanity and now we are chatting like a manager and his secretary. Too formal for my liking.

 He finally got around to replying my message three days later. I had already come back to my senses and accepted my fate but I couldn't resist digging the grave further.  For instance, this morning I asked him what he has been upto in the past few months and his reply was neutral.

 Work as usual. How have you been?

  He did not even mention that he missed me. It's humiliating. Actually, I will just leave him on read. There is no need to embarrass myself further. I will just focus on this Bradshaw guy till my soul mate comes knocking on my door and professes his undying love for me. Or I could go out more.

 Start with a jog in the evening. I should definitely do that.