Long weekends are cool. Until you’re on your period. You’re already highly sensitive and emotional so now you’re just a ball of exposed nerves. And you’re alone listening to acoustic covers meal prepping for the upcoming work week. Cool.
Except you hear the one song that triggers you to think of him and it’s all over. Why am I hung up on him? Who fucking cares? Keep scrambling the eggs, Alex. Don’t forget to add garlic.
But seriously… what the hell? Why do things seemingly go so well and then we hit that wall. Every. Goddamn. Time. I’m kind. I’m intelligent. I’m funny. I’m so pretty. My personality is amazing. All from his mouth. So why? What about me is so defective that once we come to that part it’s time to jump ship?
I would not have imagined myself here at 29. I would’ve thought I had it together by now. That I learned what I needed to about love and loss and it’s all better and happy and sunshine-y now. It’s humbling. It’s earth shattering. It’s a long weekend with acoustic music playing on loop.
Don’t forget to set the timer, Alex. Those breakfast muffins will be banging. Unlike this.