Tar Baby

I can't believe it. A simple email exchange with the ex-boyfriend, and here I am a veritable logjam of emotions.

Why do I do this to myself?

It had all seemed harmless enough. I had a business question that I knew he could answer, and anyway, I was sure I was over him.

Obviously I wasn't, given that here I am, for a good hour now, dithering about this feeling and that one, unable to focus let alone get any work done.

And all he wrote was, "Call me." Two words. That's it. But it was enough to send me in a tailspin, trying to decide whether I should.

The best I can figure is that my inner tar baby took over. And just like Br'er Rabbit in the Uncle Remus stories, who got himself hopelessly stuck on a doll of turpentine and tar, I too could end up forever entangled if I don't watch out.

A wise source, aka Wikipedia, suggests that if you find yourself in a sticky situation that is aggravated by additional contact, the only way to solve the situation is by separation.

Makes sense to me. But now I have to do it.