Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Seven)

Reread yesterday's post. Add 5 drinks (B's lost yesterday), an attempt to master meditation, and looking up the word "shame" in the dictionary. Subtract therapy session.

That was day seven.

Anatomy of A Break-Up (Day Six)

Today is day six and my sister decided to make the trek to our house. She couldn't understand why I was still bitching about Assface when my normal slogan is "move on and move up". I have a suspicion she didn't believe I was actually crying over him and came to investigate the real reason I sounded all sad and snuffly on the phone.
Turns out she was kinda right...

I woke up with my new-found anger which was nice, but I couldn't inhale without smelling garbage, which was lame. So I went to the doctor and sure enough I had a sinus infection. I was pretty relieved- it proved that my lethargy and general shitty feeling wasn't so much from Assface peacing out as it was from my body mutinying against me. I'll take it.

I heeded the doctors advice and went home to rest the only way a single mama can- by letting my sister do all the work. So I lounged on the couch, watching her chase my 18 month old niece and 8 year old daughter around the living room, trying unsuccessfully to get the Sharpies and dog bones out of their mouths. And as I recounted the events of the past few days in agonizing detail, my sister and I made a startling discovery: now that Assface really is out of the picture, I have to find a job. Or go to school to get another degree to help me find a job. This break-up was getting worse by the day, when it should be the opposite.

Fun Fact: I have a degree in anthropology and a degree in geography- the most unemployable fields ever. Now that Assface and I are over I have to face reality.

I was hoping to leech money from a dude and never work.
Like these hookers, only while being pretty in a way that doesn't involve a scalpel.

There isn't really a part of me that ever felt bad about my work situation. Assface funding most everything when we were together kinda went hand and hand with the fact that he's the "reacher" and I'm the "settler" (a close friend's terms for the one who reaches above his number rating and the one who settles for under her number rating). I'm not naming exact numbers, but there was a solid 3 point differential between us. I was the higher digit.

Actually, the above statement isn't totally true. There was definitely a period of time when I felt bad about the work situation between Assface and I- when we lived in Eastie I had a job for 4 months or so and I hated it.

But the past is the past, and my glory days are over until I find Mr. Boat Shoes. Ergo, I desperately need to find a (temporary) job.

So I began a half-halfhearted search. Which means I looked at all the hilarious jobs on Craigslist. I even applied to 4 of the postings under "gigs"; 3 of which involved musicians in some way and 1 of which involved just an instrument. In between prying her kid off the top of the bannister and telling my kid we already know what B.S. stood for, my sister managed to look over my shoulder and point out all the jobs that she deemed acceptable. I found them all to "worky" and had to veto them. Since I didn't meet the qualifications necessary to land a job on freaking Craigslist, I decided to look at possible graduate programs.

Let me break this down: I need to use my degrees to find a school that will take my degrees and shape them into a single, better degree, so I can get a grown-up job. Lame. All this graduate school crap was getting to me. After all, I never wanted to be a surgeon, I wanted to be with a surgeon.

The following list depicting typical ER doctors illustrates why being with a surgeon is a great idea:

Dr. Jackson Avery sure as hell isn't thinking about being broke. He's weighing the pros and cons of buying property in Monaco. He'll decided to go with the pros.




Dr. Sloan and Dr. Shepherd clearly have that educated-judgmental-making-a-bet-on-hitting-that-later look going for them. No one knows why that's hot, but it is. They're also intimately familiar with the human body and that can only be a good thing.

 Dr. Karev works long hours and he also works out. That type of dedication requires tons of time away from home. As in no listening to a husband yammering away. As in spending his cash in blissful silence.

I want to play doctor with Greg Campbell so badly. So, so badly. I mean I really want to hit that. Otherwise this picture is unrelated.






But no surgeons or trust funds in sight right now, so onward with the grad school idea. I was thinking of a field that would put me a little closer to Mr. Boat Shoes, something like nursing or accounting (so I could be a teller in a Swiss Bank, obviously). But as luck would have it, all the deadlines passed months ago so I'll need to wait until next year to apply to any grad program. And as more of the same luck would have it, next year is right around the time when all my student loans will be in default and I can't even kind of fund grad school.

WAY to many dead ends, and the doctor said I should be resting, so I stopped thinking about everything. I can always come back to the whole job idea later.

Or I could ditch the school and just buy the uniform.
I'm talking to you, Greg Campbell.

I was pumped my sister was staying for a while, but between the sinus infection, knowing how badly my daughter felt about my split with Assface, and the realization that I needed to get a job- ON TOP OF THE BRUINS SUCKING ASS TO THE CAPITALS- my anger was starting to get the best of me. When my niece didn't want to eat the mac and cheese I made her, I told her I was over her attention-sucking ways and held her lovey over her head and out of her reach for a solid minute. I needed to vent. Thank god it was therapy day.

And what a fabulous session it was.

I definitely hadn't been counting on my therapist telling me that my anger and sadness were really covering a sense of shame, yet the second she said those words it all made sense. This truly is an ego issue. I am ashamed that Assface had the strength to pull the plug when I was the one who had wanted to do it for so long. I was ashamed that I had let my daughter down. I was ashamed that I was financially unstable without him. I was ashamed that I became so dependent on him as a friend. I was ashamed I dated someone who wore really short sweatpants, even around the house.

I feel like the next step would have been white Velcro sneakers.

The hard part came after my shrink and I discussed primary versus secondary emotions (which sounds a lot like my anger isn't actually my fault- I shall keep that in my mental vault). She told me that in order to ditch of my shame, I first needed to sit with my shame.

My Thought Sequence:
1- I thought I'd been sitting with my shame my whole life.
2- Clearly I was wrong, so how does one go about sitting with their shame?
3- Is my therapist really giving me a print out of anger pressure points and a couple of guided meditations? Is she honestly telling me that only I can know how to sit with my shame?
4- Awesome time for her to go Kung Fu Panda/every Japanese movie with a wise dude on my ass.

Ultimately, I decided to hang on to my anger for the time being. I still plan on sitting with my shame because that sounds hilarious and who knows (I do)? Maybe it will help (uh-uh). Right now, I hate Assface for hurting my daughter and for injuring my ego and taking the TV. But perchance I don't hate him completely. I certainly don't like the guy right now, and something about the whole break up is really eating at me. Something suspicious is going on and until I know what it is, I'm hoarding all the anger I have inside of me in case I need it. Just like a good Kennedy would.

Anatomy of a Break-up (Day Five)

Today was horrifying.

It was absolutely beautiful out and my daughter and I played Frisbee and football in the yard in an attempt (by both of us) to act like all was well in the world. Assface was scheduled to stop by around 1:00 and as usual he was annoyingly early. At 12:23 he shot me a text saying he was "in the area".

I'm going to take a second to say this: I fucking hate early people. Do you know what kind of people are always early? The same people who listen to sports radio when they could actually be watching the game because "the play-by-plays boost their imagination and enhance the game intellectually". The same people who have Post-It notes all over their homes with to-do lists that actually get done and positive affirmations they actually believe. The same people who like cats better than dogs and wouldn't want a dragon as a pet. Arrive 10 minutes early to everything? Congrats. Now you can sit and wait for people like me to finish checking our email and the final scores on a couple games.

This is what I'm doing while you're checking your watch.

Or I may be looking at pictures of Brady online. 

I could be hunting muskrats. But you know what I'm not doing? Waiting for you.

I digress.

The goal of the day, for both of us- other than him getting some small crap that he needed before the big move in a few days- was to talk to my daughter. She's 8 and she's the one who got screwed out of this whole deal. Period. Well, her and my dog, who really loved Assface.  But when he proposed the idea of talking to her about her feelings when he came over, I knew it would be fruitless. My child takes forever to process crap. Once, after a big cross-country move to the East Coast when she was 4, she acted like we had just switched apartment buildings or something- she was so cool about it. Then suddenly, two months later she started peeing on the welcome mat outside of the back door. She said it was because she didn't like it as much as the one at our old place. Dually noted.

Regardless, I'm so glad he had to suffer some of the awkward I'd been dealing with since the second we split.

My daughter's the type of kid who is badass by nature. I want to take credit for her, I really do, but she's just herself. In a way that is amazing. If you ask her a question, it takes her forever to answer it. But the answer is just what she wants it to be and almost always way cooler then you expected coming from an 8 year old. So essentially, you have an 8 year old who out-thinks you while giving you ample time to realize she's out-thinking you.

Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Four)

I woke up this morning to my daughter bringing me breakfast in bed. Are you kidding? She's 8 and she already knows how much mama needs carbs in the morning when she's in such a state. Clearly I've done something right. We talked a little about her side of things and tried to figure out if she wanted to continue to see my ex (our ex?) every week or so. She's not sure because in her infinite little girl wisdom she realized it may be smarter to just rip off the band-aid. We decided that she didn't need to decide right then and there. If there's something that this mama's good at, it's teaching my daughter to procrastinate.

Then she ditched me to go off with a friend. The same friend she went with yesterday. I'm pretty sure that this friend's mom knows what's going on and that my daughter may be milking the fact that she's down a positive male role model to score some sweet play-dates. She's smart. Like that "Little Man Tate" kid, only cooler.

To be fair, no one is cool when they're being hugged by Jodie Foster.

Another bit o' bio: I live with my mom. And her weird boyfriend. And obviously, my daughter. And at one time, my boyfriend. And I'm so not okay with that. Unfortunately, my massive student loans and complete lack of enthusiasm for finding any job other than substituting has left me little choice. On the upside, the house is huge, there's an awesome in-ground pool (and there's not a ton of those in this state...) and I have the downstairs level to myself. Plus, my daughter has a huge yard to play in. And she's close to my mom- which strengthens their bond and gives me a free babysitter. Back when I was dating, I just told guys that I owned the house and let my mom live there because she was so old. I have a B.A. in anthropology so obviously they believed me- it's the whole implied bleeding-heart liberal thing that goes with saying you have a B.A. in such a ridic field. Though you might think that living with my mom would make me feel a little lame or insecure, you should read the blog more closely. I regard myself highly. Student loans aren't my fault- they're the governments fault. Some people occupy streets, I occupy a large house with an in-ground pool. 

Guess who's smarter? 99% smarter.

After my daughter left I hopped in the shower and realized that I hadn't cried today. I was extremely proud of myself. Then I started to sing Wilson Phillips' "Hold On" while lathering up and a tear or two may have escaped. However, that's a pretty empowering song, so I'm going to say that those were happy tears.

"I know that there is pain, but you hold on for one more day"... it's just so true

I too wanted to break free from my chains, and I was going to start today. I decided it was time for a change. I also decided that the change should be something simple because one shouldn't overexert themselves in times of crisis. That's when it hit me- my hair. I've spent years trying to get J-Aniston's hair color and I was damn close. Only instead of Aniston short, my hair is Kardashian long. What a combo, right? But today was the day to let it go. As W.P. girls preach, no one can change my life except for me. And Ashley, my hair girl, but still.

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.