And and and you know that heartbreak is temporary. That it's temporary and that nine times out of ten a shot of whiskey will do NOTHING to improve the matter.
Your ex might not agree to get coffee with you. And that's fine.
You get to the point where you can say you can be like, "I tried!" and that's enough.
And not everyone is out to get you! I know! Insane! But it's true!
Winter is not out to get you.
The casting director is not out to get you.
Your friends with all their pain-in-the-ass tough love are not out to get you.
And that guy-- sorry, those guys that broke your heart are not out to get you.
They're just morons.
You get to the point where you have the balls to get. A fucking. Shrink.
And you confidently stride in and set your Starbucks down and grab the Kleenex and you brightly say, "Okay, Dr. Vernon! I'm ready!"
Five minutes later you're crying.
About the divorce.
Or your friends.
Or how you always put your foot in your mouth.
Or how you have this sick obsession with justice and apologies.
Or wait, no, definitely him.
Or your mommy.
Your sweet, perfect mommy who didn't get enough time.
And then you're yelling!
Because you're ANGRY!
I mean, FUCK are you angry!
No one gets it!
You cry at the bus stop because no one gets it.
You cry on the train behind your cheap sunglasses because no one gets it.
And you're jealous of your lazy, perfect, sleepy cat laying in the sunny spot on your bed because she sure as hell doesn't get it.
I mean, no one does.
Not your loss.
"Man, I wish I knew your mom." Your new friends chorus.
"Yeah..." You look down sadly. This time you don't cry, but you don't know what to say. "She was pretty rad."
But what about the city, right? I mean, this city has seen you at your absolute worst! The hangovers.
The secret twenty dollar uber trips to see that guy in River North at 4am only so he could ignore you later.
The holidays where you missed her. Remember? The holidays where you sat in Grandma's dining room all day binge- eating cheese waiting to feel better. Waiting to feel the magic of Christmas but ultimately just getting anxious and claustrophobic and disappointed. No one made the rum cake, because no one made it but her. And you fucked up the spinach dip. And everyone was disappointed. Forgiving, but disappointed. And if she was there, there would've been spinach dip and there would've been rum cake and there would've been Christmas. The brie was your favorite. You decided to eat some more before eventually giving up. Jesus, fuck. You missed her. The city saw you walk home to an empty apartment that night, flick your Christmas lights on, crawl under your favorite napping blanket onto the couch, breathing slowly and somberly waiting for the holiday to be over; for the world to make sense again. And eventually it did. For a little while, anyway.
The night you went skinny dipping alone in Lake Michigan drunk on cheap wine and everyone laughed as your translucent pale body plunged into the water. I can't believe you skinny dipped with your hair extensions in! You're lucky those were human hair, missy!
The times you went to brunch. Took yourself to lunch. Waited for him to ask you to Italian food but ultimately took yourself and you bought the expensive glass of wine because why the fuck not.
The times the temperature was just TOO MUCH. And you muttered under your breath, you muttered, "Jesus Christ, fuck shit Fuck."
The weight gain.
And the weight loss.
And when you hit ground zero so you could start over and remember YOU. And love YOU. And listen to Marry The Night at full volume after that big audition and cry because you are so goddamn proud of YOU.
You get to that point.
And here you are.
I'm surprised, but not that surprised.
Sail on, little Bobo.
That's what she wanted.
"I've never worried about you." <3