This has been a shit week. My boyfriend of six months and I broke up. It was a long time coming, but that doesn't mean it's easier. I suppose if I was a better person this is where I would list a dozen cliches and euphemisms like; "it's a new beginning" or "I believe everything happens for a reason." And I do believe both of those statements. But that doesn't in any way take away from the profound, overarching truth. This was a shit week. And I don't particularly feel like being brave and reasonable right now. I alternately feel like party-rebelling like a Ke$ha song or a Brat Pack film--or throwing a coffee cup through the window or pounding my fists against the floor and sobbing.
And at the risk of sounding self-ingulgent, I also think that's beautiful. Human beings aren't rational (which is why I always thought econ was a crock of shit, "assuming humans are rational... " which is like basing a field of study on the assumption that crickets can breakdance). I'm rational some of the time--like when I decide really the dry-shampoo isn't cutting it and I should probably hop in the shower--but other times I'm operating on a cocktail of estrogen and Russ-women chutzpa. It wouldn't be a "confession" to tell you I've thought this through and everything is for the best--it would be propaganda. I have thought it through AND I do think it's for the best, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not fully on board. I'm human. I can know it's for the best and still think it wouldn't have had to be for the best if it could have been better at the time. I'm not beyond shoula, coulda, woulda's, and I'm not beyond belting Adele in my car as a coping mechanism. And that's good. Because now we all know I'm not a fembot (which, based on my breasts, I could have told you anyway...)
So, ok. I said it. I haven't written all week because I felt I was lacking in inspiration, but instead because I needed to give myself time to be sad, time to hibernate, time to angry---and now I'm ready to be myself again. I'm actually proud of myself for not issuing a kind of press release; "I'm fine, nah nah nah!" because it would have been disingenuous and also pandering and stupid. And I am none of these things. When you have your heart broken, why is the first instinct to say--"You didn't hurt me! I'm fine! Hell, I'm even better off,"? Why is it so fucking difficult to say the truth, "you hurt me! I'm sad! I don't know how to prevent myself from occasionally crying at the sight of seemingly benign objects like popcorn machines or ice cream cones with sprinkles,"? But I believe the truth will set you free (Count of Monte Christo style) and so I'm having the courage to tell the truth. And this week, the truth hasn't been exactly rose-colored. It's been shit colored--green/brown.
This was a shit week. Next week is a new chapter. And I'm excited to start writing it again on my own terms. Always irreverent, always honest, and occasionally funny.
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