-It didn’t take as long as I thought it would to start to think that this is going to end-up futile, like it did earlier this year when I asked you to grab your dog and come down to live with me in the house I was buying in New Orleans. You took a few days to think about it, how hard I don’t know, and then said (via text I believe) that you couldn’t do it. My gut is starting to tell me that this is going to be the same fucking thing all over again. I’m going to write, woo, pine, and want, and in the end you’re going to pick the easy choice. I’m no one’s back-up plan.  Christ, I just got this fucking blog too!  It’s possible that my understanding of you may be different than who you really are and what you really want?  Maybe that life is actually more suited for you; the steady, reliable, small-town life; though I know it can’t be better for fucking, loving or laughter.  That’s my fucking domain.