In my most recent break-up, the guy listed out all the things that were wrong with me (things, mind you, that up until that moment he had said he loved about me during the six months we were together). Then he proceeded to tell me that it was all going to be okay because we hadn't "invested that much time in each other". Awesome.
I didn't even cry. I told him exactly how I felt. How I thought he was just getting cold feet and that he was making a huge mistake. Then I knocked back the Stella Artois I had just ordered, got up and left. I haven't heard from him since.
After a couple weeks, a few bags of coconut M&M's, one unsent rambling e-mail (thanks for stopping me, Sarah), and a few private shower crying sessions later, and I'm starting to feel better. I even cut my own bangs as a proud testament to my newly minted "single" status on Facebook.
I'm not going to sit here and say that I'm not sad anymore. A simple line in a romantic comedy is all it takes to make me break into ugly-cry-face mode (you know, the type of cry when you're trying desperately not to cry, but you can't hold it in and your dog is giving you the head-tilted sideways look).
However, I'm not going to wallow in self-pity forever, either. The bag of coconut M&M's is almost empty, the sun is shining, and my optimism still reigns supreme. I'm taking a break from the relationship thing for awhile, and working on the other "disasters" in my life, such as my writing career which I've been putting off since forever. If he's out there, he can wait. Maybe by taking a time out from my quest for true love, when I do find it, it actually will be fantastic.
|Pretty handy with scissors. Next mission: hall closet!|