I was going to read this diary entry at a local event but sadly that event was cancelled so I’m going to share it here because THE DRAMA! Names and dates have been changed cause it’s my blog and I can do what I want. Oh, except the name of my car.
Fred and I broke up in November. I’m happy to say that I don’t remember the exact date he told me, “It just isn’t working anymore.” At least that’s something. I won’t know the exact date to throw myself a pity party next year to celebrate getting dumped. I’m not sure why I’m writing in this journal again.
Two thoughts today.
- I love my car. I can trust and rely on my car. Freezing cold, sleet, snow – no matter what the conditions, my car is faithful and reliable. Therefore, my car is female. I’ve named my car Myrtle. I cry in Myrtle a lot. She doesn’t mind. She keeps all my secrets.
- I drive a lot now that I am single. To work, the movies, the gym, the store, to friends – like everywhere. I miss a having a boy to drive me sometimes. I’m not sure if I miss my stupid, lying, cheating boy or just a boy.
I should write a novel. I never thought I had enough life experience before now. But surely with my first failed long term relationship under my belt I could write a bestseller. Or an angry one woman play. Or maybe I’ll just write down every ridiculous thought I have in this stupid journal in an effort to hang on to my last threads of sanity.
Are we there yet?
I’m thinking too much. Replaying our entire relationship over and over in my head. I look much thinner and prettier in the replay. But Fred is bald and has a nasty eye twitch. I hope he goes bald – like really bald. Maybe in some freak chemical accident or something. He deserves bald.
I should get my hair cut. That might be nice. Imagine if everyone in the world was bald.
It’s Friday night and I’m in bed at 10:45pm. I hate this stupid journal.
I had a terrible day at work. Charlotte gave me a hug but it was one of those bend at the waist hugs where there is barely any body contact. Fred was good hugger. Right height. Right squishiness. I miss him. Ugh. For how long will I miss him?
Here it is: I don’t trust people anymore. Fred slept with someone else. He broke the trust that existed between us. He could have broken a lot of things and I would have been fine. But not trust. Why can’t people just break up with each other before someone cheats. Why? I hope he gets some kind of sexually transmitted disease that causes his penis to fall off.
I’m feeling strong today.
Worse day ever.
A friend told me that the grocery store is a great place to meet men. Ridiculous. The grocery store is a great place to meet Haagen Daaz ice cream and sour cream and onion chips.
It’s Saturday night and I’m in bed at 11:30pm. If I were the other half of a couple and had spent the night drinking wine, eating pizza and watching a chick flick this would have been an adorable date night. But as a single person this seems really lame.
It is odd to become strangers with someone you love deeply.
I miss Fred. I hate this. I hate that I still feel sad and cry over this man. This man who has not yet lost all his hair in a chemical accident. Dammit.
Maybe Fred and I will get back together. Because let’s face it, I’m all that and a bag of chips. Seriously, who wouldn’t want me? Or is this just something pathetic, broken hearted girls tell themselves after a bottle of wine and a box of Joe Louis.
Fred and I are happily married…to other people and are the best of Facebook friends.