I've been debating a lot about this post. Tactically speaking I love to use humor to displace my sometimes uncomfortable Single Gal situations, conversations, and just plain awkwardly painful encounters with the general public. But really, the last two months have kind of been shit. And I know that when I write this post I'm not the only one who has been here. I get it. But at the urging of The Housewife you get a post that may very well bare a good portion of my soul. But seriously if you read it don't accost me about the post in Target or at dinner for God's sake. Let's just keep it in the inter webs for now. Between inter web friends.
One of the greatest things about being 29 and staring at another failed relationship that you spent almost two years on-- that same relationship that maybe was never really a relationship or it was which is still up for debate -- is that since you are no longer in high school where your life really did consist of long phone calls with your loved one, notes in lockers, and making out in move theaters the actual reality of it is this: you've got a lot of other real life shit to do. Go to work, clean the house, pay the bills, catch up on DVR, see your friends so they don't move you off their social calendar for being a real lame ass, etc., so you know life does go on and will go on. You also usually have less evidence to destroy -- because hey, why take pictures together anyway when you just have to send them to the city dump? Live and learn. Save the environment. Don't forget to embrace The Breakup Diet either -- nothing slaps the hungry out of you like cold, hard, rejection.
Ok, so maybe there are about 2.5 great things about the situation and life isn't complete shit. The hard parts? Well, those are a bit more numerous and complicated.
It's hard to talk about it to people -- especially when you are aging 29. You see, your friends that are getting married and having babies and buying minivans and thinking about their second babies and preschool and new houses -- they have the trump cards. So know that your allotted time for talking about "just another breakup" is going to be pretty limited if you are in the minority of major life events. I don't think it's meant to be hurtful, its just the way of the age group. Eventually conversations basically all fall into the standard responses -- but all in one text of course. "He's an asshole. We hated him anyway. Just get back out there! You'll feel better."
It's hard to end up at home after the umpteenth colossal argument. That final argument that was really dispirited to begin with because it was the moment you realized that while there are a million things you want and feel you need to say, you just give up and recognize the wasted breath and the deaf ears involved. You will sit there in silence instead and feel the entrance of that Relationship Grimm Reaper. You guys know what I'm talking about. I really believe you can sit in a room and just feel a relationship die.
You think that after you drag yourself home and get through those next three days that it has to get better because surely that was the worst sting of it all. You think the hard part is over. You revel in that misplaced confidence that you will have more than two weeks to recover before a new girlfriend shows up {and don't we all know that in this wonderful age of technology she will show up everywhere. EVERYWHERE.}. You really will think that because you have seen plenty of them, you can ace Breakup School no problem. But the fact of the matter is all breakups still suck. A lot. It sucks to feel used. It sucks to feel discarded. It sucks to have to find that place in your life where you lived without that person and make it happen again after the fact. And then you feel like an idiot all over again, because you loved and supported that person. Because you would have been just as happy at Waffle House with that person as you would have been at the nicest restaurant in town. Because you adored how they kissed you every time you waited for the car to come back from the valet. Because Christmas morning may never come without remembering that one breakfast. Or the freckles on their shoulder. Or exactly how their hands looked.
Love you. Mean it.
~the single gal~
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