DEFCON 4 and rising.

5 am. Tough sled the last couple of days. The old axiom that says you can love as many women as you want but you can only tell one at a time runs rampant - thanks Uncle C - and I'm experiencing that first hand. It all fell apart two days ago. The charade was done. Found out. It's not hard to do, because the Internet is only so big, but one ran into another. To say that they teamed up and had a handicap match on my face was an understatement. It happened. It was the D-Day of my emotional psyche's life. It wasn't some Ty Dolla Sign two bitches in the club scenario - I just loved two women, couldn't make a choice, was trying to waffle on it and got caught stealing. CS - 3B. Third out of the inning. Ballgame. Stuff was said, things were done, and here I am, picking up the pieces. It's all I can do to sit back and laugh at it. It was going to fail eventually if I kept at it, and it did. Not my best tactical choice in my lifetime. Eh. Happens. You try to hold it and it just goes. The Type A in me sawed everything off at a path. It's a loss, so we can take the lesson and leave the edges jagged. The lessons are learned because the stakes were super high. No emotions, no fireworks - just a regroup. I don't emote well. Never have, really. But sometimes it's the best defense I have in my head for situations such as these. There's probably gonna be residual feelings for both - but the cleanup crew in my head will probably suppress and get rid of the stuff. Maybe. I don't know for sure. Maybe one of them magically takes me back - I'll hold my breath. Maybe the open wound will get stitched up. Don't know. I guess we'll find out.