Friday, July 25, 2008

Tiny Pieces

My heart is on the floor in tiny, tiny pieces. I suppose I could attempt to assemble it back together with some Elmer’s glue. Or maybe I could just sniff the glue. Or, did they make that shit safe now so kids have to resort to inhaling feces and shit (a little redundant)?
No matter, I’m lazy on all fronts and it doesn’t help that I am a recovering alcoholic. Well, I drank like an alcoholic last night with some Brits (those across the pond would drink the pond if you called it a margarita and added some salt) and I’m recovering from it. If Dr Golden actually knew how much I drink when I go out, I do think he’d faint. I really don’t understand this “just one drink or two a week” business. What the hell’s the point of that? Talk about empty calories. At least when you drink a substantial amount you are getting your calories worth. Those are not empty calories but “God! This is fun!” calories as far as I’m concerned. It’s the morning after that’s empty. The moral hangovers are the worst. Like the time in college when alcohol told me it would be ok to go home with some guy only to wake up and not know who the hell he was in the first place. “Um, hi guy. Can you scoot over and cover your eyes while I find some of my things. I’m Megan by the way.” And then you want him to drive you home, get the hell out, because, well, he is a damn stranger, only to have him tell you he can’t drive his car because he’s still drunk. WTF? I told him I would drive me home but I was still technically drunk too. Turns out it wouldn’t have been a big deal if he didn’t have a breathalyzer attached to his steering wheel that he had to breathe into before the car would start. Guess it’s better than that ankle jail some people are confined to. But that morning was awkward having to hang out with-dude I still don’t know your name-until one of us sobered up enough drive. It’s enough to make you want to start drinking all over again.
Anyway, work hard, play hard. You play very hard with your Kettle One and Soda and you work very hard with the toilet the next morning. You win some, you lose some. Touche you might say.
But none of this is why my heart is in pieces on the floor adding to an already unbearably messy room.
Aaron dumped my ass. To be fair, he did say I wasn’t the problem but that he wanted, needed to focus on himself. Be independent. He doesn’t know what the future holds. Blah, blah, blah. That’s all I heard once I realized he was leaving me. His face was blurry from my tears and I can only assume I was as sad as Steve Martin in The Jerk when he realizes he’s actually not black but white with no rhythm. All I could do was focus on this poster of Kanye West on the subway. It was an ad selling tablets that will turn you into Kanye West. There was a before and after picture. Before it was a white, balding dude and after it was Kanye! I was so angry Aaron was ruining a potentially hilarious moment by denying that he needed me anymore. I was making eye contact with poster Kanye while Aaron was blah, blah, blahing. He was sorry he asked me over to fuck the previous night. Blah. He should have realized it was going to hurt me. Blah. He told me I was special. Blah.
Then his stop came before mine. He hugged me goodbye and I was still crying while the homeless man across from me was spread out across the seats with his hand down his pants moving it around.
I wished I had just put my own hand down my own pants the night before instead of jetting to Brooklyn for what turned out to be a last fuck. Not love making. A fuck. I should have gotten paid actually.
Life moves on, they say. Time heals all wounds, they also say. Well I say, what about now? What do you do when you realize all your pajamas are his t-shirts and boxers? What do you do when you reach over to hug him at night and your arm falls onto the stupid mattress? What the hell do you do when you feel like you might not actually mind if the traffic doesn’t stop for the pedestrian that is you? And what do you do when you are not sure you love yourself enough to do it all alone?
I tell myself I must go through the motions of life. I must get up in the morning when the alarm goes off at 6:20am. I must go to work and respond with smiles and make small talk and get things done. I must put on my running shoes and dirty sports bra for a necessary jog. I must shower. I must go to bed (or at least lie there). And then I must wake up. And do it all over again. I must not call him or contact him at all because he doesn’t deserve me anymore. He may change his mind. He may realize I’m the best thing since cheese. But, and this is where it gets really, really tough, he may not. Either way, I’m enough for me. One day, I’ll believe it too. I am enough for me.
Until then, I’m just doing the motions folks.


Michele said...

You are the best thing since cheese! If I had my mego over for some would be grand! I love you!! smile for me today!

Mary Kathryn said...

This is very dark Megs and it hurts me and the guacamole so please cheer up!!! Your'e coming home soon and after reading this I may not let you go back to places where masterbating homeless men are so close by. Just know you are loved too much for this!!!

cheesywino said...

I am happy! I am sad sometimes but oh my goodness I am happy. Sometimes you write for the dark side.

nickernak said...

missing out on the masterbating homeless men means missing out on everything else here too! there's an adventure waiting for you to be ready to embark on it... and you will be soon. love you more than mozzarella (the buffalo milk, fresh kind).

Monica said...

oh you are my favorite thing ever. please keep writing. more and more everyday. pleeeeeease.
do it for cheese, dvr, unicorns, and sour candy. and pants with the stretchy soft elastic at the top that lets you eat as much as you want comfortably.