IGNORE RANTS: BREAKUPS
Breakups are hard. It’s like being forced to quit smoking cigarettes cold turkey. I already knew this was bad for me, and have been wanting to quit for years, but now that I have, I’m struck by the urge to hit it one more time.
You get stuck in romanticized thought loops, remembering the good times. Simple things like cuddling and watching movies. That’s why it is so important to be in touch with your inner asshole, the demonic guy who sits on your other shoulder. He’s rational. His job is to pull you out of the daze.
“She had terrible taste in movies.”
“Oh yeah. She did didn’t she?”
“How many fucking times can you watch Fast and Furious?” he asks, awakening the part inside of you that always considered burning the DVD while she was gone in the first place. “It was a biological addiction, based on sex.” you’re right Satan, it was. How could that have slipped my mind? “Wanna go try and get laid?” Ugh, yeah. “If you want to get rebounds, you have to go where people are taking shots!”
“You mean the bar?”
“I do! let’s go.” If you aren’t homies with your dark side, breakups and all other forms of pointless human suffering are going to be dreadful. It’s been a year miniature shoulder angel, do I really still need to make a sacrifice to this rear view altar? Fine, fuck you. Satan has tickets to the rock show, and there are women there. Maybe you and I should see other people.
The term jaded is defined as being tired, bored, or lacking enthusiasm, especially after having too much of something. So it’s a good thing, a sign of wisdom. The destination following a hero’s journey. A culmination. Home.
There is nothing wrong with self identifying as jaded. The other option is naive, and while that carries an inherent element of bliss, you really can’t beat the self awareness of actually being miserable. The deep longing for truth that spits us all out with the same universal fact; Yeah. They’re all the same. And you aren’t any better.
Fuck it is a philosophical statement with various interpretations, a serene mantra reminding us that you should feel stupid for feeling bad, because in the end, we all die. So stick your dick in it, walk away from it, or indulge in the irony of existential angst. Fuck it.
It’s only a breakup, you’re only a fuck up, and she was only a momentary distraction. Your problems are your own, and it is your job to deal with them. Welcome back to work.
“Been a while.” I say to the mirror. Yeah, it has. Let’s get to it, you degenerate loser. This could quickly divulge into a self deprecating bit, and that isn’t the point. The point is that your memories are clouded, and wrong. If they weren’t, the relationship would have lacked that constant nagging in the back of the mind, saying things like “Run! Get out now fucker! This isn’t it.” with a sort of cold hard rationality that you didn’t have the ability to debate. Your disdain was real. Now it’s been a while, and stray dog mentality is setting in. The orphan dancing monkey who will accept any suitor. Next time you’re drunk enough, have an in depth conversation with the being sitting atop your left shoulder.
You were not compatible. She bored you and fit like OJ’s glove. Desperation is not the primary ingredient in the recipe for reunion, nor would you enjoy the taste. Breakups are hard. Things like comfort, routine, safety, and security all take a back seat to the actual reasons for your being here; meaning and self fulfillment. Love the pain, enjoy your decline, and don’t adopt a preference for certain emotional states. Let it ride, and use the time to figure out where you fit into existence.