Saturday, October 21, 2006

The Breakup Diaries: Day 2

Here's a fun new experiment. Let's see if misery for me = humorous for you.

Here is Day 2 of the breakup:

1. Woke up sobbing. Kitten likes to eat tears. He likes the salt. My face is all raspy from rough kitten tongue-loving.
2. Shower/cry. Skip breakfast. Skip all meals. Food makes me hurl. Breakups make me skinny?
3. Go to work. I need the distraction. TheBoss comes to check in on me, which is creepy. He puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me I'm a beautiful woman. I cry harder, mainly because I don't want to be ass-raped in my vulnerable state.
4. 2 hours of no crying. Miracle. I manically search the internet for grad schools I can apply to, or other ways to get me out of Universitytown as fast as fucking possible. TheNurse told me that a strip-club around the corner from where she lives in NZ is hiring stripper for $150/hour. Very seriously consider this option. I miss TheNurse.
5. It starts to blizzard outside. In October. It rained every day since FauxHawk and I broke up, and now it is blizzarding. That seems about right.
6. Go home. Hug kitten. Kitten is angelic bundle of love for 5 minutes, until he starts chasing demons.
7. Decide to take down FauxHawk pictures. Curl up in a ball and sob for 2 hours. TheHubby babysits me via msn. I love TheHubby.
8. TheHippie takes me to the lesbian gym for some distraction. I choose the lesbian gym so that I won't run into FauxHawk. And to surround myself with the sweet, tender love of lesbians. I do a half-assed run and want to pass out. Food would probably be a good idea at some point. I love TheHippie.
9. Frances comes over with $40 worth of pizza, chicken, and brownies. I love Frances. If I ever go dyke I'll totally do her first. The delivery man hits on us. I eat one piece of pizza and want to hurl my guts out. Frances babysits me for 3 hours.
10. TheCrazy and TOP make me go out. I cry in the bar but they are understanding. I love them. They buy my drinks. I do not get shmammered because I don't want to do the ugly cry in the bar. One of their friends asks me out. He must like miserable, crying messes. I say no for now but he makes me promise to consider it later on. Whatever. I'm claiming a-sexuality. And I'll cut off my right leg before I date another doctor.
11. TOP walks me home. I sob. It's a recurring theme. I check my email and my english prof has emailed me twice to say not to bother writing the essay that is supposed to be due monday (I told her what happened in the hopes she would be understanding). She told me she'd re-weight my other assignments. She calls me "sweet, sweet Peach", which makes me cry. My prof is my new best friend.
12. Gravol/sleep-med cocktail. Sob myself to sleep with kitten's raspy tongue scraping along my cheek. ow.

So, that was day 2. How many more of these do I have to fucking go through before I'm normal again? My tear ducts hurt. Thank god I have babysitters. I need one for today, by the way. Anyone who reads this and wants to babysit me should call me. I won't be fun and I won't pay you. Sound fun?



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