Sunday, September 09, 2012
I'm a believer.
I believe in true love. The kind that the nasty huge production companies poisoned us with. Who out there doesn't like romantic comedies, after all?
I'm also tolerant. Open-minded. And the thing I like about myself most is that I am a really, really good friend. I'm the kind of friend who'd help you bury the body first and ask why later. And then I'd probably make your excuses for you. But I wouldn't stop myself from telling what you did was wrong. Still, I'd love ya. That's the kind of person I am. Misguided? Definitely.
Anyway, the reason I'm writing after all this time is that the love of my life packed his things and left, in the middle of the night, after a huge fight exactly one week ago. See, I've been heartbroken before. I've broken hearts before. It always hurts, but it gets better. This one, not so much. It's kind of spilling over, and I've harassed my best friend and family enough with crazy phone calls which start with 'aw, naw, I'm okaaaay' and quickly detoriarate into 'but I loved him sooooo much' and the associated bawling. It sucks. It really does.
I have a weight problem. I've had a myriad of eating disorders through my adult life (I'm 30). I'm the thinnest and fittest I have ever been right now (including 4th grade when I used to go to PE twice a week). I don't really give a crap. If they said 'honey, you're gonna put on 60 pounds, and never lose them, but this fella is going to be in your life forever', I'd say, 'bring it on'. That is how much I love this guy. And it's been a week of no contact, and I was only 35% at fault, and still I can't bring myself to type in the past tense.
Anyway. I do have a point that is sorta related to Spark. Today, watching 'Cougartown' of all the shows I could have picked, I got it into my head, like a million times before, to go out, get some junk food, and just comfort-eat to my heart's desire. Before I did, I wondered if my skinny jeans fit, so I went and put them on. They did. They were comfortable enough to lounge around in for hours, actually. So, that gave me permission. I was allowed to put on a pound or two while eating my heartache away, wasn't I? After all, I really feel crappy. Don't mind the tone here, no one wants to read sappy and sad. I haven't felt this crappy in my life, and I have felt crappy a LOT, trust me. This is, like, worse than the whole pile of crappy that I have ever felt, and guess what?
I didn't want to eat that junk. I wanted to comfort eat? That's okay, once in a blue moon. I got grapes and popcorn. I comfort-ate with grapes and popcorn! Could I be any healthier? Yay me!
Now if there was a way to get that guy back, seriously, what else would I want?