They say familiarity breeds contempt. Yeah, maybe. I think that's been the basis for my problems with coping with breakups. Sure, even after a lengthy relationship ends for mutually acceptable reasons, I can become sentimental, but I can pretty easily get over that and resume laughing at fart jokes and mindlessly gawking at gorgeous celebrities.

The last couple of relationships I let myself believe existed were long distance, and therefore lacked familiarity. I tried to stay in touch, to some degree, but unintentionally sabotaged myself by acting on emotions. Had I been less emotional, I feel I would have become familiar enough with the women involved to actually realize, instead of hopefully assume, that despite all the fun, we weren't going to be happy together. But alas, I did as I do, and though I'm generally happy and optimistic, I still find myself awake at 1:51 am, writing blog posts about obsessing over some girl who very deeply and passionately doesn't give a rat's ass how I feel, so long as our mutual friends don't know for sure that it's her I'm referring to.

Why'd she give me a chance in the first place?

I know I'm not perfect husband material. The fact that I won't quit my band to be perfect husband material is proof that that is true, and it doesn't really bother me. That doesn't mean that I have any appreciation for some heartless fling.