She doesn’t own a coffeemaker. She doesn’t need one. She wakes herself up in the morning. It’s always something new, always something weird. Routine makes her drowsy. This morning she decided to run up the outdoor fire stairs skipping every other step to the tune of Thriller on her iPod. The frozen air clung to the inside of her lungs like saran wrap on warm china. She could feel her breath freeze in her throat and it only pushed her to run harder, to warm up quicker. She loved that feeling, the feeling of pushing through something painful. The awareness of her body, the sensory experience, was addictive. She was never a self-mutilator, though she certainly had the kind of childhood that would prompt such behavior. But the rush of adrenaline, the flood of endorphins, and the challenge that pain brought: either push through or succumb… it was all too exhilarating, too much fun for it to be mutilation.
That morning marked day 143 of being unemployed. Day 143 of her job search. The pain she felt physically from her impulsive and extensive exercising was nothing compared to the pain from feeling useless. And so this morning after her workout, like every morning for the last five months, she spent two hours on the worn second-hand Persian rug she won in an estate auction in her hometown. She’d sit on the weathered threads, the pattern barely visible any longer from years of use, stretching, sipping Ylang-Ylang tea, and pouring through the Help Wanted ads on Craigslist. As soon as she felt the strands of sunlight creep over her back, which she always kept to the window, she’d rise…shower…and prepare to brave the day.
Even though the pep-talk she gave herself in the shower always sounded different, it consisted of basically the same phrases and certainly the same message. She’d been influenced by years of her father’s vain attempts to get rich quick, and the countless rides to and from school were always accompanied by the sounds of some new motivational tape. She mirrored the impact of those speeches, but skipped the hallow meaning that she always felt lay just beneath that inspirational exterior. They, those speakers, made those tapes to get rich quick. They weren’t role models. And she hated that her dad idolized them, among other things.
…to be continued…
How (not) to get over your ex: the idiot-proof guide
He is an asshole. Wait, not “an” asshole, THE biggest asshole ALIVE. He is the KING of assholes. He is the lowest form of degenerate scum that has ever oozed itself into the light of day. I don’t care if he was your first love. I don’t care if you still love him. I don’t care if you broke up with him or if it was the other way around. The FIRST step in getting over your ex is to turn him into the worst person alive. Learn to loathe him with everything you are. Hate the air he breathes. This will make you feel…great. Hating him will give you warm and fuzzies.
Misery fucking LOVES company. So talk trash about him with your girlfriends. They have your back. It’s their job to hate him as much as you do. Turn everything he did into the WORST THING EVER. Exaggerate his behavior: not only did he play his fucking XBOX all day, but he did it in the nude, without showering, while demanding food and texting some other floozy you’re SURE he was seeing on the side. Plus he smelled like pickles. And he was bad in bed
Burn and Delete
Every photo must be charred. Remove him from your phone, your Facebook, your email. Everything. It would be best to take the charred remains to his doorstep encased in the shrine of gifts that he’s given you over the years with a note that reads: “Like these photos, you can BURN IN FUCKING HELL!” Because nothing says “I mean business” like teetering on the line of irrational stalking.
Hook up with his Best Friend
The most reliable advice I’ve ever encountered is: “eye for an eye”. I mean really. When in history has this ever proven to be a poor decision? You should by all means do as many things as you can to cause him extreme pain. Hook up with his best friend, his other best friend, his previous ex-girlfriend, his brother. For reals, go big or go home
Be as Begrudging as Possible
It will be to your benefit to hold on to the anguish of the breakup for as long as you can. Nothing is more satisfying than keeping yourself in a relationship quagmire because you can’t let yourself move past the previous one. That way, while he’s on his third and fourth girlfriend after you, you can be the brooding creep hiding out in the background.
If you follow these helpful tips you’ll be sure to be happily moving on with your life in no time! Make sure to publicly humiliate him as well…whenever possible, for the rest of your life, and you can be sure that you’ll be one satisfied ex-girlfriend for years to come!