like a moth to a flame

I just can't help but hurt myself. It doesn't matter how many pep-talks I give myself; the logical arguments and facts of reality reviewed, I am drawn to terrible John.

I made the fatal mistake of looking at his facebook page recently, to see numerous gorgeous women messaging him and one recent post of a tarty girl being suggestive and asking him things only she'd know if she was in recent contact with him. At that moment I hated him, and I hated myself even more. Even now, devoting yet more blog time to him makes me want to poke my own eyes out with a nearby pen.

I figure that there are two possible explanations for my general state:
1) he is crazy and internally conflicted, fleeting from kind country boy to man-about-town player in the blink of an eye... or
2) I am crazy, and he is just normal

There's nothing consistent about him - he is a complete enigma. And my compulsive attraction to men who pay me zero attention is also enigmatic in a sad and pathetic sort of way. Enough...

Christmas is nearing, and I still haven't found my spirit. My spirit got lost and now something is missing...

One exciting thing did happen recently. I went to see my ultimate band U2, in concert. They were amazing. Surrounded by 55,000 odd people, I was flying solo in my mind - it was awe inspiring. The thump of the bass and noise inside my chest - absolutely thrilling. They sang 'With or without you' and I suddenly found myself crying quietly (I thanked God it was dark at that point). I don't know what the tears were about. I think I'd had the silly dream so long to see them live, to share their space and it was finally realised. It sounds corny and girlie - but it's hard not to be moved when you look around a football stadium bursting with people, only to feel like you are not singular in that moment. Dazzling. I think I've fallen in love with a feeling I didn't know existed.

SB xx