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Superman's not gonna be happy

'DubDub' and I got together for a drink today. We met at a local tavern and talked and laughed and had a good time. The last few times she and I physically saw one another, they were awkward meetings. This one was comfortable -- except for a few moments.

At one point the conversation turned to our previous relationship. She explained her side of the story and I explained mine, and for once, I must admit that it made sense. It boiled down to a lack of communication on both our parts. She wasn't telling me how she needed to be handled (which made her get away with a lot), and I wasn't telling her how awful I felt about that (which only made her drift away more). Simple words could have been spoken and we probably never would have broken up.

There is still so much there, that's the problem (wait -- why is that a problem?). I still have a lot of feelings for her which frustrates me that we couldn't stay on track. I don't think there were any surprises and I'm glad that I got to see her again. If giving her a little more 'fight' is all it would take, then I'm willing to give her that.

So, I'm sitting there drinking my iced teas pretty as you please. We say our goodbye's and leave the place. I'm driving home and it hits me -- those iced teas have run right through me. I'm in somewhat unfamiliar territory driving home and it turns out I head out the wrong way. My bladder is sending warnings by this time. I finally get back on track. My bladder is swearing at me and it seems I'm stopping at every stoplight. My bladder is packing its bags and looking for a donor at this point. I finally determine that my office is closer than home, so I head for work. By now, my bladder is so bad off that I feel like I could pee my pants any time now. If anyone was in the office they would have seen me walking very funny. I finally made it!

I hate that feeling. It feels much better to go than not. Have I said too much?

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