All right. I'm good.
Walked around town with swollen eyelids all day yesterday... looked fucking awesome at the gym... the look totally screams "BADASS!" (I'm being sarcastic)
Like I've said before, I need one full day to have a breakdown: snotty, ugly-faced cries... if I can get screams in there, even better (and BOY, did I! It felt GREAT!-- no sarcasm)!
I'm fucked up for an entire day, where no one is allowed to speak to me...
and then life goes on.
Yesterday I couldn't even look in the direction of D's room without breaking out into violent sobs (often muttering "You fucking dumbass! You FUCKING dumbass! God damn it! ... I'm going to miss you so bad").
Today, I cleaned out my closet and moved a lot of my shit into HER closet. I now have two closets.
That's how it works, my friends. That is how I move on.
The gym has also played a huge roll. Obviously it's my go-to "drug" against depression... nice little trick I learned last year.
You'd be surprised how nice gym-goers become the moment they notice your swollen eyelids.
:/
Then there's retail therapy.
That one's more of a... weird type deal.
I went to the farmer's market and felt all adult-like after purchasing blackberries, asparagus, baby spinach, and almond meal all by my lonesome... like some young-ish catlady (this is how it all starts, folks). The hipsters at the market stared at my basket and nodded approvingly.... approval we all obviously seek... form the hipsters... because they rule the world. Obviously.
This gave me such a high, I decided I was going to become MORE adult and go to Target... buy myself some panty-liners... because I don't need tampons or pads (those are always abundant in a household of three chicks)... and I don't ever buy panty-liners.
I wanted to prove a point.
What point? That you were naturally born a woman and you now bleed once a month? That you're not pregnant? That you're worried about staining your underwear?
No. Well, that doesn't hurt, since I'm often... well, there have been numerous occasions where someone has inquired about my gender, believe it or not... since tits are so easily attainable now, or whatever.
I wanted to prove that I could make such an "embarrassing" purchase by myself.
I'm not necessarily embarrassed at having to buy tampons/pads, but many chicks make a huge deal about it... often having their dad/brother/boyfriend buy them (once, as D and I compared products, a very confused dad approached us and asked us what "Pearl?" was and where he could find it. Umm... you mean these tampons? Poor man. I felt horrible for him. He was mortified).
I purchased the panty-liners because I always purchase that shit when I'm in the company of D or Mom... so this was me, being a girl... alone.
This is so liberating! I'm a giiiiirl! Oh, and I have a two-dollars-off coupon for that shit! Yes, I want to use it! The stupid panty-liners come out to 99 cents, I'd be an idiot NOT to.
After my wild, liberating shopping spree, I came home and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Did I just fucking go out like this?!
There I was, hair picked up in a ponytail (ah, yes, D took the straightening iron, so I'm more or less fucked for the next few days until I go out and purchase a new one)... and not an ounce of makeup on my face... eyes still somewhat swollen... huge, purple demi-circle under my eyes.
Target patrons must have guessed I was the embarrassed boyfriend of a chick... rather than the independent, fearless young lady I thought I was being...
I'll try and get it right the next time around.
Walked around town with swollen eyelids all day yesterday... looked fucking awesome at the gym... the look totally screams "BADASS!" (I'm being sarcastic)
Like I've said before, I need one full day to have a breakdown: snotty, ugly-faced cries... if I can get screams in there, even better (and BOY, did I! It felt GREAT!-- no sarcasm)!
I'm fucked up for an entire day, where no one is allowed to speak to me...
and then life goes on.
Yesterday I couldn't even look in the direction of D's room without breaking out into violent sobs (often muttering "You fucking dumbass! You FUCKING dumbass! God damn it! ... I'm going to miss you so bad").
Today, I cleaned out my closet and moved a lot of my shit into HER closet. I now have two closets.
That's how it works, my friends. That is how I move on.
The gym has also played a huge roll. Obviously it's my go-to "drug" against depression... nice little trick I learned last year.
You'd be surprised how nice gym-goers become the moment they notice your swollen eyelids.
:/
Then there's retail therapy.
That one's more of a... weird type deal.
I went to the farmer's market and felt all adult-like after purchasing blackberries, asparagus, baby spinach, and almond meal all by my lonesome... like some young-ish catlady (this is how it all starts, folks). The hipsters at the market stared at my basket and nodded approvingly.... approval we all obviously seek... form the hipsters... because they rule the world. Obviously.
This gave me such a high, I decided I was going to become MORE adult and go to Target... buy myself some panty-liners... because I don't need tampons or pads (those are always abundant in a household of three chicks)... and I don't ever buy panty-liners.
I wanted to prove a point.
What point? That you were naturally born a woman and you now bleed once a month? That you're not pregnant? That you're worried about staining your underwear?
No. Well, that doesn't hurt, since I'm often... well, there have been numerous occasions where someone has inquired about my gender, believe it or not... since tits are so easily attainable now, or whatever.
I wanted to prove that I could make such an "embarrassing" purchase by myself.
I'm not necessarily embarrassed at having to buy tampons/pads, but many chicks make a huge deal about it... often having their dad/brother/boyfriend buy them (once, as D and I compared products, a very confused dad approached us and asked us what "Pearl?" was and where he could find it. Umm... you mean these tampons? Poor man. I felt horrible for him. He was mortified).
I purchased the panty-liners because I always purchase that shit when I'm in the company of D or Mom... so this was me, being a girl... alone.
This is so liberating! I'm a giiiiirl! Oh, and I have a two-dollars-off coupon for that shit! Yes, I want to use it! The stupid panty-liners come out to 99 cents, I'd be an idiot NOT to.
After my wild, liberating shopping spree, I came home and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Did I just fucking go out like this?!
There I was, hair picked up in a ponytail (ah, yes, D took the straightening iron, so I'm more or less fucked for the next few days until I go out and purchase a new one)... and not an ounce of makeup on my face... eyes still somewhat swollen... huge, purple demi-circle under my eyes.
Target patrons must have guessed I was the embarrassed boyfriend of a chick... rather than the independent, fearless young lady I thought I was being...
I'll try and get it right the next time around.
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