I know I said I was ready to move on. And I’m working hard on moving on, and improving things. But just give me this weekend, one more truly lost weekend. One more weekend to lose my mind, completely. And then… well, I won’t be okay. But I think I’ll be better than I was.
Here’s the thing: when we were together, we counted every anniversary. We used to have contests on who could wish happy anniversary to the other first. (We also used to argue over who loved the other one more… guess I won that contest, huh?) And, unfortunately, in our break up I’ve still counted the months in between. And I’ve been waiting for this weekend, for the 24th. It will mark three months since Andrew and I broke up. And it would have been our six and a half year anniversary. I know that’s silly, I know I shouldn’t be counting after all this time, and I’m trying hard to forget. I really am. And I’m slowly letting go of all the things that meant so much (I finally took out the diamond earrings he gave me two Christmas’ ago… hopefully I’ll stop dreaming of him every. single. night.) But I know this weekend is going to be rough, and I know I’m going to be upset. You have no idea how much I wish I could spend Saturday sleeping instead of working 9-5:30 on what will be no doubt a hectic Saturday at the mall. I’m not sure my plans for the evening, although they might involve going to a kegger, but I do know whatever the plan I want to be distracted as much as possible. I don’t want to think about the time the past, or what could have been. Hopefully there will be a not-so-friendly game of beer pong, or something. And if not, I know my friends can help with that much needed distraction (with help of the pink potion, I’m sure).
Things will get better, again. There are days where I almost never even think about what happened. Days where I’m happy. And all I need this weekend is a little vacation from my heartbreak. A trip to “Margaritaville“, perhaps? Better than my current location in “Brokenheartsville“.