Oh crazy, rotten lover. I was so calm and collected after that phone call. "Are you going to be okay?" he had the fucking guts to ask.
"Yeah, of course. I'm going to be just fine. It's just going to hurt for a little while," I said.
This was true. I know me: the last time I was in love and got dumped, I festered hard. I figured that's what I was in for, but I couldn't show it this time. I'm too old for that bullshit--I'm no teenager, dammit, I know better than to send long letters and call someone at four in the morning, drunk as a royal, and ready to talk about US, god dammit, and GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE! Air that dirty laundry, sister!
This time, I decide to never send the letters. And since I was just going nutty in front of ME, I was doing fine. No one else in the world needs to see one more twenty-something female go batshit after some ass hole dumps her. So I was really proud of myself for keeping it to myself.
...And then, nights later, maybe a week later, at my cousin's graduation party, I drunkenly recall that some genius has invented the Text Message.
And I've never Drunk Text Messaged.
I've since deleted this gem, because embarrassment willed me to do so. But I think it went something like this: "This is not--NOT--and attempt to get back with you. I just want you to know that I am so, so sorry." The funny thing is, I reread that fucker twenty times to make sure I didn't mess up my spelling, and every time I should have been wondering "Should I really send this?"
"Yeah, of course. I'm going to be just fine. It's just going to hurt for a little while," I said.
This was true. I know me: the last time I was in love and got dumped, I festered hard. I figured that's what I was in for, but I couldn't show it this time. I'm too old for that bullshit--I'm no teenager, dammit, I know better than to send long letters and call someone at four in the morning, drunk as a royal, and ready to talk about US, god dammit, and GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE! Air that dirty laundry, sister!
This time, I decide to never send the letters. And since I was just going nutty in front of ME, I was doing fine. No one else in the world needs to see one more twenty-something female go batshit after some ass hole dumps her. So I was really proud of myself for keeping it to myself.
...And then, nights later, maybe a week later, at my cousin's graduation party, I drunkenly recall that some genius has invented the Text Message.
And I've never Drunk Text Messaged.
I've since deleted this gem, because embarrassment willed me to do so. But I think it went something like this: "This is not--NOT--and attempt to get back with you. I just want you to know that I am so, so sorry." The funny thing is, I reread that fucker twenty times to make sure I didn't mess up my spelling, and every time I should have been wondering "Should I really send this?"
