A bit of background: the night my ex and I broke up, I moved out of my apartment (he lived in another city). I moved back home. I've had a subleaser until now, and he took the place as is, which required from me minimal trips back to the apartment to get the heck out of there.
This happened to be the biggest blessing of my life because I didn't eat for 3 weeks after that breakup. I still don't know how I went to work. I don't know how I survived, except that my mom brought home Dove bars one night and I slowly came back to life, one bar at a time.
But the lease is up, so it's time to clear the remaining stuff out. While I still hate being there, at least I don't dissolve into a million pieces anymore. Right?
Today I went to the apartment already emotional. I went alone. I went hungry.
Mistakes one, two and three.
I came across letters the ex had written me a year ago. Pictures. Suddenly, it felt like that breakup that was back in April had happened only yesterday.
With no time to spare, I used my available resources to get myself back together. That's how this happened.
|Fireplaces ALWAYS come in handy!|
It started with letters and pictures. Then an old newspaper. A couple of magazines. Before I knew it and before I wanted it to, the fire was dying. (Disclaimer: burning polaroids might be toxic.)
I needed more fuel! Around that time, this happened.
|So long, Happiness Project. You are worth more to me in ashes than space on my bookshelves!|
Great, cheesy movie...but the book did nothing for me.
Well I went scavenging for more books I felt were worth more in warmth and emotional healing to me than effort to pack up and move out, but unfortunately books were some of the first things to be salvaged from this place. The buck (flame) stopped here:
You just dont disrespect Jillian like that. Time to go home.
My plan for the day is to watch as many hours of Carrie Bradshaw as I can before I pass out in a 3 hour nap, wake up, do some Jillian, then go back to bed.
It's an emokid day. It just is.