Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Three)

Day three.
My daughter went with her friend to get her nails done because she's just like mama- mani/pedi's can cure pretty much everything. Then, when she realized I probably wouldn't be getting out of bed for many hours, she spent the day at her friend's camp- after deeming me the lamest mom alive.

Surprise kid...not even close.

My room looked like a 13 year-old boys room- used tissues everywhere. But I felt like I had accomplished something. I didn't call him.

Necessary background info that makes this blog more understandable and thus meaningful to you, the reader:
I'm not the girl that calls. I don't beg. 
I take all my feelings and shove them waaaayy down inside where they should be. I'm very Kennedy in that way. (And in the way that I'm super pretty.) When my feelings do bubble over, they take on the form of anger. The last time I broke up with a long term guy I took a pickaxe to his motorcycle. Granted, I didn't exactly go out like Jackie O. on that one but it was kinda justified and if you think about it, I still resemble a Kennedy. Only it was Ted Kennedy. Who "accidentally" drove that chick into a lake. Probably because they'd just broken up.

Facts that do nothing to make things more understandable to you but serve solely to make me feel good:
 I'm smart and know a ridiculous amount of trivia, which is cool. I'm very, very good at Uno. I have almost as much confidence as I have swagger.

After surveying my room, I realized that I should be ashamed at how much I'd cried over the last few days. And that made me think. If I wasn't over it, then he couldn't possibly be over it. I knew for a fact that I should call him and make things work. Which is exactly how I knew that I shouldn't call him and make things work. Because my gut instinct is always wrong. Always.

Seriously, always.

So instead, I thought of the very best ways to screw Assface over. After all, everything of his was still at our house. He only took a bag of stuff with him to house-sit before officially moving out. I have his credit cards, an old license, tax documents, ex-girlfriend pictures he thinks I don't know about, all his HD porn, his old cell phone with all his contacts, all his precious hockey memorabilia, work forms...

Seriously, I could ruin this kid.

Cry it out, bitch. You're fucked. And way less pretty than this guy.

He loves reading and buys books like they're going out of style. He has 20-30 books on his "can't wait to read" list, just sitting on our shelves. I thought of tearing out the last page of every chapter in every one.

He's taking the mattress when he moves out in a few days. I thought of writing "I lied. It's not even average." with one of those giant Sharpies, which would be pretty friggin' funny when he and his buddies have to wrangle that thing into an apartment smack in the middle of the city.

I could shoot his TV with the BB guns I bought for him 2 Christmases ago. (I bought him B.B. guns and targets. He bought me a subscription to a literary magazine. I'm pretty sure I should have known then and there that this was doomed.)

I could Photoshop a Canucks jersey over a really bad picture I have of him holding a bottle of Whipped vodka and send it into barstoolsports.com in the hopes that they'd bash him on his favorite website. Or I could just paint his Bruins jersey the Canadiens colors.

There were so many options and I didn't do a single thing. That's so unlike me.
My sister said it's because I've grown. My best friend said that I was just tired (it's true, I think I have a sinus thing going on) and that I'd be right back in the saddle tomorrow. My mom said to pick one that won't get me arrested, do it, and start putting myself out there more or else I was never going to meet someone.

But the sad truth is this: he's an okay guy. A genuinely goodish guy. He's never been mean. He stood by me through a ridiculous amount of crap and it took me 1.5 years of trying pretty hard to finally push him away. I don't know what I have to be mad about and that's the most frustrating aspect of this entire break-up.

So today, after listing all the things I could do to Assface in my head, I watched the Bruins find that sweet Vspot over the Caps. I was happy. The B's won- even if it was painful to watch Ovechkin beating them at their own game and seeing Lucic sit out for nothing.

But I watched the game alone.
Which is why I am now passing out with the much needed help of a little RX I lovingly refer to as the "give it twenty minutes and all the emotion will go away" pill.