Where did this mean streak in me come from?

I’m here, listening to a bit of Lifehouse, dancing round Meadow Towers in my PJ’s (silently, ear phones in - it’s an odd look, but Moose is sleeping) and I have this desire, this urge to ring up Mr T., go out dancing, wind him round my little finger, and then leave him standing forlornly at the bus stop again, much like I did last week.

So last week there was no dancing, but there was the wearing of a short dress, the buying me drinks, apologizing (worth waiting three years for), accidental (on my part) and deliberate (on his part) footsie, forlorn bus-stop standing, and much glee in my heart as my taxi drove off into the night.

Which just isn’t me. Ask anyone. I might talk the talk, but when it comes down to the wire, I just can’t find the nasty. I hate to cause pain to other people. Normally.

But a part of me just wants to twist the knife some more. I’m already taking unholy pleasure in the fact my life rocks whilst his… doesn’t. Now I want to screw with his head.

What’s disturbing me is the fact I think I really could. I’ve discovered I might actually have it in me to intentionally hurt someone.

So I’m also buzzed from a good day today - meetings in London, knowing I’m doing a bloody good job, and more caffeine than is probably wise - combined with a degree of tiredness I’m only coping with because I know I have next week off, have all conspired to make me more than usually wired. I’ve got ants under my skin. I’ve had my fill of being sensible and grownup. I want to go dancing. I want to have some fun.

And I want him to be there so I can turn, smile slowly, and make it clear “this is what you let go. Fool”.

He dumped me, I went to New York, I got a tattoo, I got over him. I genuinely got more pleasure out of the chocolate ginger cake I had when I got home, than I did out of last weeks reunion. (Which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy hooking up again. I did. Just… It was good cake). He’s still very easy on the eye - I will admit it is a pleasure to look. And he’s still good company and knows how to make me laugh. But, I’ve moved on. I want more.

And, as previously stated, I want to f*** with his head. Not out of a desire for revenge, I want to make that clear. I don’t feel angry. I’m not all hung up, nor am I in danger of turning into a girl who takes it out on innocent pet rabbits. I’m just very aware that I’ve suddenly found the vein of nastiness said to run through us all. It’s not something I’ve felt before, but I’m starting to see why my male friends always start to look worried when us girls get talking… Power. God it feels good. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right? Well, I think we need a new metaphor - because Cas is bored, antsy, and getting in touch with her inner bitch.

You have been warned.

(And I do have permission to be blogging whatever I want on this topic. I checked. Even I’m not the kind to blog and run. That would just be mean).