Deja Vu

Roberts wife called yesterday. Yeah, his wife. He lives in his own lil bachelor type apartment but he still has one of those critters we call "wives". No ring. Just the wife. A crazy one apparently but a wife nonetheless. She's called before. She has even shown up at my house. This time though it hurt. Previous phone calls have pissed me off. This one was like a slap. It made me feel cheap. Like I was sneaking around,,cheating,,doing something wrong and dirty and ,,,slutty. I hate that feeling. I made a vow to myself that I would never feel that way again and then WHAM,,,,the phone rings and I say Hello and she says those magic words,,This is Roberts wife,,and THUD goes my self esteem and my bright chipper nursey type mood. I wanted to shower,,remove my skin,,remove my heart and disinfect it,,bleach it,,bleach the air I was breathing. I HATE THAT FEELING. Sigh. Today I'm cleaning. It's not helping. The seven thousand comments and retorts and snappy comebacks are stuck in my throat. I want a rock to crawl under. A big rock. Dark and slimey,, like me. I had started the conversation with him the other night about my two list belief. That women are either loveable or fuckable and once you get your list placement you don't get to move to the other list. Ever. He had made the comment that he thought when he first met me that I would be someone he could get "lucky" with. That's what prompted my List Theory revelation. I never got to finish it. Will today. I have to know. I'm not going to be another mistress. I'm not staying on the fuckable list. I'm not dealing with another wife. I can't.