Lately, I feel as if I've taken an emotional bullet to the spleen. And, much like a gut wound, I feel like I've spent a lot of time bleeding out: there have been a lot of Feelings Monster episodes, a lot of sleep over dosing, a lot of overwhelming impulse fits. It's been difficult.
But, after the binging, comes the purging. And after the purging, come the lessons.
You divorce a lot of things when you end a serious relationship. Possessions, friendships, family, cities, countries, media. The separation anxiety from everything you invested your life in is pretty brutal. And the only thing that fixes it, or makes it bearable, is time. And time takes a long time.
And there it is: time takes time.
That's my brilliant resolution. Such insight, right? I thought I'd come up with something more profound. But, I guess that's what happens when it takes you seven years to learn a simple lesson. Yep. We've got some real Sex and the City rationalizin' up in here. But, at least I don't dress like a Carrie Bradshaw Tranny.
Well, not anymore.
Except that I do.
And I am, right now. whoops.
But, speaking of other things that are awesome (besides Girls, Game of Thrones, Madmen, The Killing, and 16 & Pregnant), I started the new Chuck Palahniuk, Damned, on Saturday.
It's no Survivor, Haunted, Fight Club, or Choke, but it has something of a Vonnegut touch to the voice, so so far, I'm digging it.
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| well put, Chuck. |
More on the book when I can finish it. Right now, my two part time jobs have me spinning. Ugh. But Tax Season is over on Wednesday, so at least one end is in sight.
*also, I apologize if "Time" by Hootie and the Blowfish is stuck in your head now.
**and if it wasn't before you read that last line, but it is now, take that.
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