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Last night, for a few dark minutes, I remembered what I forgot. It isn't a memory I particularly wanted to recall since it had visited me every single day, many times each day, for the past two and half years. But its sudden reappearance made me realize that, in fact, I hadn't thought about it in quite some time.

What am I talking about? Naval A-Hole of course.

After he disappeared on me without a word in October 2005, I quickly developed the unintentional sick ritual of thinking of him, cursing him, several times a day. His pink-cheeked, babyface punctuated by the Hitler-youth blonde buzz cut would pop in my head and I would angrily stare into his loving, pleading blue eyes trying to spot the lies I clearly missed in real life.

This little memory exercise would cause me to instantaneously flood with longing and rage, because I missed him (or who I thought he was) so much and I hated him even more for leading me down the garden path and then leaving me there stranded, without any explanation or hint how to get out alive.

I went through this so many times each day that it became almost a safety blanket as I re-entered the dating world. If I met a new guy and got a little nervous, I would wrap myself up in that blanket a little tighter as if to remind myself, "He's a jerk. He'll leave you just like Naval A-hole. Just wait and see." Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.