Shavings from Chelsea's Cerebrum

A nice dumpster for my inane thoughts.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

The Post-Break Up Schedule

Month one:

-Get shitfaced, and before doing so, hand cell phone over to best friend so you don't end up making a regrettable drunk dial
-Sob violently in both public and private
-Bitch to friends till they grow weary of you
-Delete all emails, texts, contact information with the ex in an attempt to prevent yourself from wallowing in the past
-Eat your feelings/gain massive amounts of weight (or) starve yourself because food is too hard to swallow/lose massive amounts of weight
-Sleep for extensive periods of time, followed by waves of insomnia fantasizing about "what could've been"
-Remind yourself constantly that he was no good in the first place till you're convinced that it must be true
-Dress to the nines anytime you leave the apartment in the event that you bump into each other, that way he can be reminded of what he's missing
-Deny that it's that big of a deal in the first place and that it wasn't really love if the other person didn't return the feelings, right? Right? Oy. Fuck me.

Month two:

-Scorn and swear off all men and treat them with an icy indifference
-Consider overpriced therapy to see what the "root" of all your relationship issues really are
-Start knitting
-Sponsor an African refugee for $0.50 a day, because really, so many people have it worse than you do

Month three:

-Welcome the gradual return of feelings and optimism to your system
-Go on a date with a new bloke as an attempt to move on completely, as well as a method to seek further punishment (Note: If date goes well then be prepared to repeat break-up schedule in 6-10 months, give or take)


This is really an FYI so everyone will know what I'll be busy with for awhile.

1 Comments:

At 9:15 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

We've all been there before, darlin': lather, rinse, repeat. Soon, you will have a luxurious shine that all the girls will envy!

Or your hair will fall out.


P.S. - I'll never tire of your bitching, as long as I can detect some hint of optimism in there, no matter how far down it is. In all seriousness, you know that you can always vent/scream/whatever at me. I can take it. I have a beard.

 

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