My mind wandered to the coffeeshop crowd. I will probably never make friends like that again, but that's okay.

I can do without constant whining about ex-girlfriends and how they're like couches, shoes, cars and how now they're seeing some good-for-nothing waste of space heroin addict. God, The Artist was hilarious, but that just got on my nerves. One day, he went on and on and on and on...finally I just said, "We get it. Why don't you just shut the fuck up about it!" much to the horror of the three other women sitting at our table. He was totally surprised. "Well, you can give her the sun and moon and all, but did you ever think to ask her if that's what she wanted? You can give someone something, but if they don't want it, they'll look elsewhere for what they want." So simple, but apparently that had never occurred to him before. Suddenly, I became intriguing. I knew he had a crush on me, but he was Lithium quality crazy, and I just can't manage that as a girlfriend. And I say this, because that's what it would be with him, because he was my first exposure to the High-Maintenance Man. Besides, I really liked B better.

Oh, B, how creepy you could be! That was what made me fall in love with him. It also was the reason I knew it would never work. Life is like that. Next time, I'm not opening up my mouth and saying anything about that. I can't handle hummed goodbyes.

And Texan - now Gay Texan, but that's not a fucking surprise - how I loved him like a brother. He was very silly but awesome. I loved the night that I drank him under the table and had to walk him home. Plus, he let me slap him, which was fun. I hated his sister. She was so completely nutty she drove me nuts. I'm glad I no longer know her, god only knows what the fuck that bitch is up to now.

Part of me wishes I had the excitement and drama back, just to observe it. But I could do without Mr. Bodybuilder, as he well and truly frightened me. His eyes would dart around as if his brain was looking for an escape from his body. Occasionally, he'd look as if his brain had succeeded.

What I really wonder is what happened to Creepy Old Man. That sounds bad, but he was only marginally creepy. He was great to talk to. He had a habit of disappearing, but he always came back. One day he didn't. I like to think of him in a cabin in Montana, hunting, like he wanted to do. I think he needed it.

It's so strange...everyone moves on and I'm just here. Oh, older and wiser, but still here. It feels strange. I feel bad, because my life is completely unexciting. I don't do anything interesting. I'm quiet and reserved. A far cry from kicking people out of the bar. ("Are you going to fight?" *blank looks* "I asked if you were going to fight. Because if you are, take it outside, the bar's closing." *blink, blink* "Oh! Okay! C'mon, let's go.") Now I'm just boring. The only thing exciting about me now is that I write...which I haven't been doing because I just haven't been able to. Now I fucking can't stop. That's not a bad thing though, as it really helps to finally work it all out, sober, and aware. It really is as if something's been lifted off of me, a fog, a blanket, and I can be again.

Sometimes I try to pinpoint where it went wrong, and I can't narrow it down, what happened to make me dazed. I think the whole marriage thing is what did it honestly, and it snowballed from there, morphing into this totally horrible thing that I couldn't get a grasp on. Pressures, from many sides, my family, ExFiancee, not wanting to be embarrassed...

I'm wondering how much I can get for the ring. Then I'm going to sell it, and write a check out to ExFiancee. "You earned it," he said, "so you keep it. It's all yours." That rings in my mind, completely aggressively passive, and you can HAVE THAT FUCKER BACK.

I should have thrown it at him. Of course, if I had listened to my inner demons, he'd be dead by now, thrown out of my second story window.