“I can’t remember what I wore yesterday, but I remember everything we did together in vivid detail.”
I haven’t really updated much, which is sad because I rather like this blog. However, I’ve gained the tremendous amount of weight I lost over the 6 months after my breakup (re: I’m slowly regaining excitement for this November instead of fearing it) have refused to write any further poetry and have mostly stopped drinking. That in itself is quite the eye-opener. I no longer write drunkenly or cry when I can’t find the right words to form poetry that used to come so easily. Nor do I wrestle with the invitations to go out and stay inside gloomy and wearing the same clothes I had the day before. I avidly and extremely avoid places where the ex goes and even places that are just nearby without wincing at the thought that perhaps, perhaps I should just laugh it off and vomit afterward.
This doesn’t change the fact that pretty much every human being with a relatively resembling figure and short, brown haircut with a backpack immediately makes bile creep up my throat and my legs weak enough to buckle. What it does change is that I just keep walking and care a little less.
I’m having a ridiculously busy time these next two months. Getting everything together, cleaning, going out and making time for everyone. I have my own bucket list for NY. Things to do before I rid myself of the cockroaches of my history. Bad relationships, angry drunken fights in a club/bar of some sort, friends dating friends, lies, failed careers, a recession, cheating on tests and relationships. You name it, I’m writing it all down on a sheet of paper in block letters and folding it up into Origami. Then tossing it into the Hudson with a goodbye flick of the wrist.
I’m assuming it will be theraputic, I’m also betting that it won’t be in the long run. We as people all have our own rituals when ridding ourselves of something. It’s sort of like the stages of grief.
It’s funny to look back on really. I used to drink so heavily. A bottle of whiskey a night. I functioned on that, and barely anyone could really tell. Or perhaps those that did I just didn’t care enough to let it bother me. Now I’m lucky if I drink once a week.
I once said to someone that the real trick to getting over an addiction of any kind is to wake up one day and be able to say: “I’m tired of this.”
In my case, I didn’t even wake up. I just stopped bothering with it. Even when I drink now, it’s just not fulfilling. So I don’t really.
