I know I’ve been a slacker with my posts recently.  It’s not that I don’t have a lot to say.  I do.  Tons.  But it’s different when I’m writing about a philandering ex or a series of relatively amusing and unimportant hookups than when I’m writing about someone I actually care about and who, incidentally, knows the link to this site.

So yes, the Boy From Back Home is still in the picture, and I am completely dorky with happiness.  Even I roll my eyes at my giggly headoverheels infatuation.  My sister/roommate might end up moving out if I don’t stop talking about him. 

 All of this is fascinating to me but I know from experience that it is interesting to no one else.  Kind of like wedding planning.  When a very dear and close girlfriend is planning a wedding, you know you are going to listen to hours upon hours of chatter about the shade of white for the dress (I wanted to go with a “winter,” but you know when white is just too white?  So I decided on more of an ivoryslasheggshell, but then my mom thought it might look too yellow once we get to the reception and I’m standing next to all of the whiter white table cloths.  So I asked my caterer if they had any ivoryslasheggshell type table cloths, and they told me that they would have to special order them and it will cost another $1,200.  So now I don’t even know what to do).  I mean, if you love someone, you love to hear them when they’re happy.  But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel like pulling off your own earlobes and stuffing them into your ear canal after a few weeks of it. 

So, I don’t want to piss off the person who is making me all googly-eyed, and I don’t want to bore some random reader who may chance upon this site with my googly-eyed-ness, and therefore I’ve not been posting quite so much lately.

For now, I’ll leave it at this.  For someone who dubbed herself a cynic, I am shocked - literally shocked – that I have the capacity to have strong feelings again.  For anyone.  In so many ways, it feels like only yesterday when I felt my entire world was blown apart in an instant, and some days it was all that I knew how to do to stop myself from slamming my car into the biggest telephone pole I could find.  But in other ways, that was a whole lifetime ago.  I’m still angry – although that has been dissipating too.  But I can’t really remember what it felt like to hurt that much.  It’s fuzzy, like when you have an argument during the course of a long night of drinking.  You wake up the next day and begin to remember (most of, hopefully,) what you said and did, but you can’t really remember why you were so upset about it.  You can’t conjure up the intensity of the emotions that you had felt the night before.   That’s kind of where I’m at with the whole end of the world break up and divorce.  And I never thought it was possible.

If anything, I’m starting to believe that perhaps suffering from a broken heart and then utimately surviving it may allow me to take more risks than I would have thought possible if I had never gone through it.  Because now that I’ve been through it once, as bad as it was, the next time (if there is a next time and, let’s face it, stastistically speaking there probably will be), I’ll know, without a doubt, that the hurt will end, that it does get better, and that I can withstand it.

So knowing that, I’m just going to ride this wave of happy and try not to worry so much about whether, how or when it will end.  Or at least, I’m going to try.