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Day 66: The end

It took 66 days to get over this breakup.

Well, I think “over” might be too strong a word. I still get sad, bitter and angry from time to time. I often miss him. But the process of getting over him just isn’t as all-consuming as it once was.  I don’t really have anything interesting to say about it anymore.

I’ve reached a stage of acceptance. He did the right thing, breaking it off with me. He didn’t string me along. He did it face-t0-face, and unambiguously. He never cheated or lied. The timing sucked, and it came as a shock… but he did what he felt he needed to do when he felt he needed to do it. His only fault was not being the person I wanted him to be, which isn’t really a fault.

In retrospect, I wish I had handled things with more class and maturity. But you learn…

I might be ready to date again sometime soon, but at the moment there are zero prospects. So it’s just little single ‘ol me… signing off.

I’m still blogging, though.

LOVE life/ love LIFE is where I talk about how my love life is going, post breakup.

Swoonology is where I talk about fashion, food and the other delightful things in life that make me swoon.

Day 61: Death becomes her

I might have mentioned this before, but I work in the media. That means I’m inherently a dark, morbid person.. and also a bit of a narcissist. I often wonder what people will say about me in my obituary. I often wonder if my loved ones would submit to tearful television interviews, or hide from the cameras, in the event of my sudden and untimely death.

Today I was thinking about cancer. I think it’s because of that crass “I like it” breast cancer awareness meme on Facebook, and some conversations I was having with friends about how stupid it is. Also I’ve been reading Her Fearful Symmetry and it’s pretty dark.

Anyway, I started to wonder whether I would tell him if I were stricken with a terrible deadly illness and only had months to live.

There’s no question he’d want to know. And I have no doubt he’d pull it together and rush to my deathbed, trying helplessly to help. I bet he’d get tearful and morose, and would be at a loss of what to do. I bet he’d be kind of annoying to have around in my final hours.

Part of me wondered whether I’d shut him out and keep my imminent passing from him… as punishment. Then! Surprise! He finds out I’m dead and he’ll never see me again. He’ll be overcome with regret and sorrow for the rest of his life.

I’d like to think I’d put that pettiness aside in those grave circumstances, and show great magnanimity as my life neared its end. We’d have warm, intimate heart-to-hearts as I grew weaker and weaker. I’d leave him, and this world, with a sense of bittersweet closure.

But I’m not sure I’d be that gracious.

Twisted, huh?

(In reality, just so you know, I’m going to live to be the grumpiest and most hilarious centenarian you’ve ever met. I have no doubt that I am long for this world.)

Day 57: Plenty of Fail

I went out for coffee this afternoon with that Meetup hiking group. The nice guy who gave me his dry socks after that rainy hike a few weeks ago totally ignored me… not that it matters.

Anyway, when I got home later I was kind of bored and kind of sad. And sometimes when I’m bored and sad, I browse Plenty Offish… just to see. My profile is still hidden, and I have no intention of changing that, given the atrocious batch out there. 

I mean, seriously. Check out some of these wonderful headlines, which are ostensibly supposed to entice ladies to click:

– Woman (I picture him grunting this like a Neanderthal)

– I’m exciting (if you have to say it, clearly you’re not)

– I SEE YOU (yep)

– IS SHE OUT THERE SOME WHERE!!!!!!!!! (WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?????!!!!!)

–  paitently waiting… (for what, spellcheck?)

– good guy looking for a DRAMA free girl (baggage much?)

– in search of a normal one… (ditto)

– are all girls crazy? (noticing a theme? there are many, many guys who open with a line like this) 

– looking for an honest (an honest what?)

– Exhausted of living life alone! (I’m exhausted of you)

– looking for a casual dating (a casual dating what?)

– want kool goodlooking girl! (In fairness, I think a lot of these guys don’t speak English as their first language, so maybe I’m being unfair. There’s really no excuse otherwise.)

– I like cake!!!!!!!!!!!!  (It was the multiple exclamation marks that really sold me)

– Looking for interesting (looking for noun in sentence)

– hot grils (uh huh)

– OUTGOING GIRL WANTED????????? (WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING??????? ALSO, THIS ISN’T A QUESTION!!!!!!!!!)

Looking for an independent women (looking for someone who knows the difference between singular and plural)

Well that was fucking depressing.

 

 
 

 

Day 53: Sad Bed? Try CRAZY bed!

You’ll recall that on Day 20 I rearranged my bedroom furniture.

That decision has had consequences.

First of all, it means I’m closer to the paper-thin wall I share with my cray cray neighbours.

At around 3:45 a.m. today, I was roused from my sleep by yelling. I managed to ascertain that the girlfriend was upset  her boyfriend doesn’t love her anymore, and her life is now not worth living…or something. The girlfriend’s voice is shrill and loud, so I really only picked up her side of the story. The boyfriend’s retorts only sounded like the teacher in Charlie Brown (wah wah wah).

A few moments later I felt creepy for eavesdropping (in my defence, it’s not like I had a choice), so I found some ear plugs and went back to sleep.

An hour later, I was once again pulled from my slumber, this time by raucous make-up sex. The ear plugs were useless.

So I listened to my audiobook of The Big Short to drown it out, and fell back asleep. Until my alarm went, I dreamed about JP Morgan, Goldman Sachs and collateralized debt obligations.

My situation is pretty pathetic — I acknowledge that. But the girl next door’s situation is even more pathetic. I mean, the yelling-fucking/yelling-fucking/yelling-fucking cycle may be fun for a while, but after a few years of that insanity isn’t it just enough?

Now on to the second consequence of my furniture rearrangement:

I moved my dresser, which weighs as much as I do, to its new spot in a really ungraceful manner. Somehow the structural integrity of the piece was compromised in the process (not that it had much structural integrity to begin with, being from IKEA and all).

This morning, as I was enjoying my coffee and watching the Cosby Show, I heard a giant CRASH come from the other room.

The dresser toppled over, smushing the shade on my bedside lamp and strewing clothing, jewelry and other detritus around my room.

My life is awesome. Just awesome.

Day 52: Hipster Fail!

I walked to the bar, in my cute outfit and all. Outside there were signs saying our tickets will can be used when Hey Rosetta! come again in December, and that Hot Hot Heat aren’t going on until 11 p.m. There was another act at 10, which I hadn’t heard of.

It was 9 at that point, and I didn’t really feel like standing around awkwardly for an hour to wait for someone I didn’t know to come on, and then stand around awkwardly again until Hot Hot Heat came on.

So I turned around and went home. At least I had a nice walk on a nice, warm night.

Now to change into my jammies and watch ANTM.

Day 52: Sad hipster :(

I bought a ticket to see one of my favourite-ever bands, Hey Rosetta! (the exclamation point is part of their name, but also the punctuation mark that best describes how I feel when I listen to them).

I checked out their website to confirm the time and place and discovered their (very attractive) lead singer is sick! Poor guy! So they’re not playing after all.

My quandary is whether I go and see the headliner, Hot Hot Heat — who I’m sure will put on a stellar high-energy show, but aren’t one of my favourite-ever bands — or just call it a night and get my beauty rest.

On one hand: I have to be up at 6:30 tomorrow, I’d be going to the show alone and I’m not sure Hot Hot Heat is worth it without one of my favourite-ever bands opening for them.  

On the other hand: I’m single and I could meet cute boys, I’m antsy and want to dance, I’ve picked out a cute outfit, and I’m not sure Hot Hot Heat isn’t worth it.

I guess I’m really afraid of missing out on opportunities…to meet someone, specifically. I want to be in the right place at the right time, and I know that isn’t at home watching America’s Next Top Model (guilty pleasure).  What’s the worst that can happen if I go? I stand awkwardly by myself with my arms crossed and don’t have fun?

Fuck it. I’m going.   

Day 50: What I deserve

I have no desire whatsoever to get back together with him. I suppose I deserve props for that.

But I’m not really in a good place today.

I guess  what I’m obsessing over is why on Earth I stayed in the relationship so long. How long would it have dragged on had he not ended it — totally unilaterally —  50 days ago? How long would I have stayed in what was basically a sexless relationship before I was tempted to stray? How long would I have subverted my adventurous, outdoorsy, wanderlusty side before the resentment devoured me? Did I really prefer being unwanted, undesired and held back to being alone? What’s wrong with me that I was willing to sell myself so short? Am I that girl?

I’d really like to take what I’ve learned from this experience, and from other failures, and make sure I do things right if and when I meet someone else. But I really, really don’t trust my own judgment. At all. I have a pretty good head on my shoulders when it comes to most things in life: I’m not in debt, I keep myself healthy, I’m gainfully employed, I have good friends. But when it comes to love, I’m just utterly delusional. I always promise myself that I’ll keep my wits about me next time, but over and over again I end up crushed and disappointed. Despite his assessment of my character, I am inherently an optimistic person, but it’s getting harder and harder to stay that way.

I just don’t get how I can do this again.  I don’t get how people meet the right people and marry them and procreate. I know it happens, but I just don’t get how. I don’t know what it is to be in a happy relationship.

***

On a happier note… I went to see Arcade Fire the other night and it was AWESOME. Such a great, cathartic show. It was super fun, even though I had spent most of the day leading up to it nursing an epic hangover (that’s another story for another time). I was kind of hoping to run into the hiking guy who lent me his socks, who I knew was going. Just to see, you know? But I didn’t. There were a lot of people there. I was a little disappointed, but not overly.

Seinfeld Shoes (how he’ll henceforth be known) “liked” my Facebook status, which was something about being excited for the show. Why he felt the need to weigh in, I don’t know. And then later his status was about how he’s the only person he knows without kids who didn’t go. He’s sort of indifferent towards music. He certainly doesn’t care for live music.  I, on the other hand, am passionate about music. My entire inner monologue is set to a soundtrack. Music connects to my soul at a very deep level. So why did I think I could make it work with a guy who’s out of sync with me in this very fundamental way? At least I don’t have to avoid any of my music collection because of him…