I feel like the Coldplay of bloggers, I only blog about
break ups. I had all the intention in the world to blog about my new hobby of
running, my Christmas vacation in Indonesia, and my one New Year’s Resolution. But
it is after a break up I find myself with all this time on my hands and strong emotions that want (need?) to be
written about.
The first day or two after a breakup there may be tears, but
I generally feel fine. I usually reflect on all the good things that come from
breaking up. I have a smaller grocery bill—good, more time for working out and
getting enough sleep—plus, a chance to catch up on pleasure reading—double
plus.
But then it starts sinking in. The absence of that someone who would hold
me when I felt down (or even when I didn’t feel upset), make out with me when I felt a
little frisky, and feed me dinner when I was about to get hangry. Then there are
the inside jokes, the daily texts, and that person who knows of and cares about
the mundane details of my daily life—the annoyance with coworkers, the upcoming
deadlines, the fears that scale from small to large, and all those amusing tidbits
in between. Later comes the aching, that
deeper loneliness and longing that sometimes leads to long tearful soul
conversations with friends that help fulfill, other times to nights of Jane Austin movies and ice
cream, and occasionally to some Mormon version of one night stands.
I’m on day two. This breakup was my call. So, I’m OK, but I’ve
finished reading Ender’s Game and I’m really starting to miss him.
