It was time for a little change. 

[ ]Been a hooker

[ ]Thievery 

[ ]Pawned my shit

[x]I’m going to hell

I’m not that big of a Beatle’s fan. 

Social networks are cool and all, but they’re also the fucking worst thing you can have access to when you’ve just broken up with someone. Seriously, the very next day I found myself there, viewing his Twitter, my stomach all knotted up and stuff. And then it was on to Facebook; same feeling. It made me feel awful, and pathetic, like these things were the only connection I had to my ex. I wouldn’t talk to him but I still wanted to know what he was up to. But why did I want to know what he was up to? Because it’s fucking addictive. It’s torturous not knowing, yes, but it’s absolutely pointless to know. 

But it had become a dirty habit-

Go online, check my Twitter, check his.

Check my Facebook, then his.

Get angry, don’t get angry, etc., etc..

And for what? Just a little self loathing and a bad mood to top all bad moods. 

It didn’t last long though. I caught myself before it became too ridiculous, before I saw something I didn’t want to see. I got a calendar, pinned it to my wall, and set a goal to not check up on my ex for 1 week. After two days it was as though the monkey had climbed off my back and killed itself. Things became so. much. easier. I felt happier. Then 1 week turned to 2, and 2 to 3, until it seemed all desire to know anything about him had evaporated. I don’t know if I’ll ever- on some unpredictable drunken, lonesome night- cave and lurk all his shit like the creeper the internet has made of me. I hope that’s never the case. 

I’ve done myself a huge favor. All I have left of him are memories. And that’s all he was ever good for, anyway.

Those stupid, stupid words I tried to read while simultaneously taking a beer leak.

“… why did I even care?… moving soon… there’s no point…”

I sort of laughed in anguish. It sounded so strange, at first I thought a sob escaped me. But I was smiling. Because, well, of course this was happening. Of course. And I can never just send a text and be done with it. I have to call. And I have to hear his voice; I have to hear the way he says it. Because… because.

And Jess’s dogs kept pawing at my feet, and it made me angry. I was so angry that they were so happy to see me, because I was so unhappy to be standing there with them while he said all those stupid, stupid words.

I planned on being grown up about it, I thought, He’s moving, it’ll never work. He’s right, just thank him and say goodbye. But NO. My words became lodged in my throat and my eyes were leaking all over my face, along with my nose, and those damn dogs kept trying to get me to play fetch. What the fuck.

I blame the alcohol.