In which I cry on the hall floor

It was just before 3am last night when it occurred to me that I might not be coping very well with my break-up after all.

There were a few subtle signs; namely that I was curled up, foetal position, on my hall floor, still wearing my stilettos, crying drunkenly and hugging my cat.

The Essex Boy broke up with me two months and six days ago. I didn't write much about him on this blog while we were together, but suffice to say I loved him very much. The reasons for our break up are simple - I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his with me.

I had seemed to be coping pretty well. After taking a day off work to cry, I picked myself up, brushed myself down and carried on with my life. I took sleeping tablets at night so I wouldn't lie awake thinking about him, I swapped baths for showers, I signed up to help at my local Cadet Squadron so I'd be busy, I collected the gorgeous Oscar from Cat Protection, I had a fringe cut. Friends commented on how well I seemed to be coping as I chatted to my ex in the office (we work for the same company) and said wise, balanced things like, "He's not a bad person, he couldn't help how he felt."

Crucially though, I also embarked on a rebound. The Rebound was an army officer who pursued me relentlessly and made me feel sexy. However, he also called all the shots and lived for the drama. One night he'd be texting me until gone midnight asking about my sexual fantasies... the next night he'd pretty much ignore me while we were out with friends. I let this continue for six weeks, despite the fact that I wasn't even sure I liked him, and the sex was fairly mediocre.

Which brings me neatly back to why I was crying on the hall floor at 3am this morning. Being rejected by someone I wasn't even that interested in was a deeply unpleasant experience, and made me realise just how little I was valuing myself. Everything I've been doing has just been a distraction, and I've not allowed myself to grieve, because grieving hurts. Plus I don't want a new boyfriend - I can't imagine opening myself up to anyone at the moment - and I certainly don't want to be messing about with boys who purport to be almost thirty and yet behave as if they're characters in Dawson's Creek.

So I've made a decision - no men until at least Christmas. And I don't just mean no sex... I mean no kissing, dating, flirting... not even any lingering looks across the bar. I am one of the flirtiest people I know, so this might be tough, but I have to stop needing a man in the wings to be happy. The only men in my life will be my closest friends, my dad and brothers, my minky little cat, and this picture of Digby Ioane.

That's going to be enough for now.

In which I try to unpack my emotional baggage

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a new boyfriend will suddenly become irresistibly attractive to all the men she liked before, none of whom were interested at the time.

Or maybe it's just me, I don't know. What I do know, however, it's that I'd really like to be enjoying these blissful early days with The Man I Am Seeing (aka. Essex Boy) rather than having a war of words over text  with Future Husband. He seems to have forgotten that I was interested in him, and it was him who stopped texting me; that many of my phone calls went unanswered and unreturned; and that the last time I saw him he told me he "wasn't sure" whether or not he wanted to be with me. He is also failing to understand why refusing to see me or speak to me now, and sending me multiple texts (including the immortal line "I was coming round to the idea"), has really, really wound me up. FH seems to think that the fact that he was "coming round to the idea" of going out with me is something I should be happy about, even grateful for. A few months ago, I was wondering why we weren't together. He's now demonstrated some pretty compelling reasons. I just hope that our friendship can survive.

Meanwhile, Essex Boy is making me very happy. I'm not sure how much I should say about him - it's much easier to disect the confusing and downright weird behaviour of men I don't care so much about, and much harder to talk about someone I like more and more with every passing day. It's now been a month since our first official date, and I've done the journey from Bucks to Essex a couple of consecutive weekends. We've also been to our work summer festival, meaning that our relationship is well and truly "out" amongst our colleagues. I can't overexaggerate how wonderful he is and how lucky I feel to be with him.

It's pretty scary, though. I wasn't planning to meet someone I felt like this about so soon, and as soon as I met him, I knew things were going to change. I'd be lying if I said I was over Former Love of my Life; I know I wouldn't go back to him, but yesterday I was reduced to tears by finding last year's Christmas cards (featuring brief, neatly written messages which masked a lot of pain and confusion - when I wrote mine I wasn't even sure we'd still be together at Christmas). As my feelings for Essex Boy get stronger, I'm finding that the pain of my break up is coming back to the fore. It's like I'm trying to deal with it so that I can put it behind me once and for all, but I'm not sure how long that is going to take.

For the first time in my life, I'm aware of myself carrying some baggage into this new relationship. I'm so, so happy, but I'm all too aware that relationships that start like this can still end in raw, painful ways. That old cliché of "love like you've never been hurt before" is proving difficult, and I'm still holding back a lot of myself. I guess that's normal though, so early on. What I do know for sure is that while I'm lucky enough to have Essex Boy in my life, I'm going to hold onto him.

In which The Journalist does not email me

I mentioned in my last post that my birthday bought with it a text message from The Journalist. He said he thinks about me a lot, I'm "pretty wonderful" and, crucially, that he would email me during the week. To be clear, those were his exact words: "I will email you during the week."

I should never have got my hopes up as a) my birthday was a Friday and he texted at 11pm, meaning there is a 100% chance he was drunk, b) he has the memory of a goldfish and has been known to forget entire conversations held less than 24 hours ago and c) he has a girlfriend. I realise he doesn't sound like much of a catch at this point, but you have to trust me when I say there is just something about this man. He manages to make all his failings utterly charming (except the part about having a girlfriend).

The Journalist likes me (more on that later) and he knows that I like him. When we were both in relationships, we emailed sporadically, met up for the occasional drink, and flirted outrageously within fairly safe parameters. Because we were both unavailable, we knew where we stood. We were on equal footing - if either of us had called an end to it, the other would have coped just fine. When things cooled off significantly a few months ago, I won't pretend I didn't miss him, but I knew it was best for everyone concerned.

Of course, now, everything is different. I'd written him off until I got his text message (our first contact since his birthday a couple of months ago) but now I was all over the place again. Yes, things would be easier if he was single, but I'm not going to get involved in trying to make that happen. However, I do like him, he is great company, and a few drinks and some flirting would be nice. Hardly admirable, but there you have it.

The week started, and continued, without an email. On Monday, I was ok with this. It wouldn't do for him to look too keen. On Tuesday, I started to obsess a tiny bit. Just a tiny bit. By Wednesday, I was jumping six foot out my chair every time an email came through (I work in PR and receive approximately 500 emails a day). On Thursday morning I thought, f*** it, it's only The Journalist, and emailed him.

Then the real fun started. He didn't email back. I realised that if I checked his Twitter account, I could see if he was tweeting from "web" or "Blackberry" therefore allowing me to ascertain whether or not he was at his desk and receiving his emails. In short, I became a crazy person, in a surprisingly short amount of time.

And then he emailed: "No, I will not go out with you. I have a girlfriend and you are a mental person. Due to cutting edge technology that you are currently unaware of, I am able to see that you have checked my Twitter account 47 times in the last four hours. Yes, I have your email. Yes, I am ignoring you. Please leave me alone and get help."

(This didn't actually happen. But it could have done.)

That night, I convinced myself his email would be waiting when I got to work the next morning. It wasn't. So I broke every rule in The Rules and DM'd him on Twitter. I kept it light. I asked if he'd got my email (I know, cringe) and said it was unlike him to reply. And he messaged me back straight away! He said, yes, he had got my email, but he was very busy and had forgotten to respond. He said he wasn't sure if he was busy next week, but he would let me know via email. He said "I promise." There was a kiss.

So, what we have here is a situation where he has, to all intents and purposes, said he will email me during the week. I am in trouble.

In which I'm traumatised by a car insurance salesperson

If you have just come out of a relationship, and you think maybe you're not miserable enough already, make some phone calls to service providers. It's a real treat. In the two weeks since my relationship ended, I've done a pretty good job of burying myself in deep, deep denial. Unfortunately, the break up meant I had to update my car insurance. It almost pushed me over the edge.

Me: I'd like to remove one of my named drivers please. Former Love of my Life.

Insurance lady: You'd like to terminate Former Love of your Life?

Me: Terminate? Um, I suppose so, yes.

Insurance lady: Ok, so we are going to terminate your named driver, Former Love of your Life?

Me: Yes please. That's the one.

*Pause*

Insurance lady: So I see you have three named drivers: Your Father, Your Mother and Former Love of your Life. Which one are we terminating?

Me: Former Love of my Life! Please.

Insurance lady: Ok, so we are terminating Former Love of your Life?

After ten minutes of this, I felt like terminating myself. Removing him from my car insurance (ergo, my life) needs to be like ripping off a plaster - painful but brief. That conversation was more like gouging out my heart with a blunt spoon. And it cost me £17.50.

Now to arrange the "termination" of the contract on our flat...