Do Not Resuscitate

After the glitter has faded, the rose has lost its bloom, the storm has become quiet, and the relationship expiration date has long since passed, I find myself alone again, sucked into a vortex of "what if's" and "shoulda, woulda, coulda". I think of myself as damaged goods and question my own ability to making love last.  Sleep becomes an illusive commodity and offers too much time to be alone with my thoughts.

My love life resembles a vigorous round of Whack-A-Mole. I knock down losers, cheaters, liars and bottom feeders in abundance, only to have each one resurface out of new holes. I decide that maybe a life of domestic independance, devoid of romance just might be easier. Perhaps accepting a daily welcome home by a canine concerto is better than the cold, rotten inertia of a never ending circle of failed relationships and constant dissapointment.