I'm drinking -- so if this post seems a little disconnected and confusing -- that's the reason.

How long should one mourn the end of a relationship. I never mourned the end of my first marriage. I didn't. I was pregnant when I found out that my first husband was a bigamist and I was totally into my pregnancy and didn't mourn the end of the relationship. I did mourn the end of my second marriage but I'm not sure for how long. Maybe not long enough. Seriously, when I ended my second marriage I didn't spend enough time alone to think about what the hell went wrong. Even though it was my decision to leave I still felt rejected. Possibly because he didn't fight to keep me. Anyway, I don't deal with rejection very effectively so I had to prove to myself that I still had it going on.

I know how stupid that is.

Oh man. I absolutely cannot stand the thought of starting over again. Most people love the beginning of relationships. They love the chase and the excitement of being with someone new. I hate that shit. I like being in a relationship but I have found out (once again) that men like the chase. Once they have you they lose interest. So where does that leave me?

Love is for suckers.

Truthfully, my immediate goal is to raise my children. A relationship with a man and raising my children do not match. Men are needy as hell and if a guy cannot be number one he will find someone who will make him number one -- even if it's only for one night.

My birthday is quickly approaching. I'll be celebrating my 41st year. I'm really looking forward to it. I want to take a trip. A forbidden trip. I know I shouldn't and I probably won't but it sure is fun to think about. I have a friend. A buddy. A f**k buddy. Isn't that terrible? I know. Truth is, I haven't been with him in four years but I do believe he may be the ego boost that I need. Like I said, I know I probably won't make the trip but I like thinking about it. The last time we were together we spent the weekend at a beautiful bed and breakfast in the south. A view of the river greeted us each morning and for 51 hours I was his and he was mine and then it was over. It got me through. It helped me. Isn't temporary help better than no help at all? I spoke to him today. He has promised not to try to entice me into doing something that I shouldn't do. He lives a far enough distance away that I cannot get into any immediate trouble. We've known each other for more than thirteen years and I trust him. Better with him than with some random fool that I don't even know.

I know. I know. I can't do it. Wasn't it Shakespeare who said, "Methinks thou dost protest too much"?

Well, the purpose of this post was to determine how long I should mourn. I guess as long as it takes. Not too long. I have too much life to live. It didn't work and now it's time to move the hell on. The second glass of grigio is just about gone. So I should probably go to bed. Does anyone think that I am self-medicating with alcohol and not really facing what is really bothering me?

You're right. I am.