Balls

How could you not read an entry entitled balls?

You can't. And don't worry: this isn't some kind of bait-and-switch where the eponymous balls turn out to be an earnest discussion of the merits of different kinds of beach balls. Make no mistake, I'm talking about how everything is balls.

So the girl that I've been seeing just broke up with me. Because I'm moving to England and leaving her behind.

Fair enough. It was a straight up choice between staying in NY for her, and leaving her to live in London. And I picked London. And she told me where to get off.

She was the best girl I'd ever been with: attractive, funny, smart, sensitive, fiercely independent and liked me. Just plain liked me. There are plenty of attractive, funny, smart, sensitive, fiercely independent girls out there who don't like me, so the fact that she did made a big difference. I liked being around her: she was a lot of fun and our chemistry was off the charts.

But it wasn't enough to make me want to stay with her here. Why?

Because I'm selfish and I have my own plans.

Because I've been burned before by people who I would have given my left testicle to.

Because I think, if I were to be honest with myself, I don't believe we live in an age where you give something up for someone else, on a hunch that they would do the same for you.

Harsh? Cold? Cynical? You don't know me and you don't know what I've put up with.

It's all balls. I've been in New York for 7 years and no one stuck the way she stuck. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe it's an illusion, only made possible because I'm leaving. In other words, if I were staying, our attraction and subsequent discontent at breaking up would be markedly less so.

I don't know and I'm less affected than I thought I would be. Further proof that it's all balls, including me.

Or here's another thought: maybe the reason I keep seeing balls everywhere, is that I'm just a prick.