The actual day of the break-up is gray and fuzzy. I am not sure when I finally decided there was not going to be any more chances; but one day, I woke up and realized I needed to move on. If you have ever been through a break-up, especially when children are involved, it is easier said than done.
At the end of day eight and I started sipping my second margarita; when it occurred to me that I could not feel my lips. I know I broke the “break-up rule” and turned to alcohol. What can I say? I needed some relief.
It is during these times of indulgence that I talk big. Stuff like; “I am going to find someone to get under, to get over someone” and “I just bought a new bed, ya wanna help me break it in”? Being a Catholic girl, I would not say that to any prospects and only say that out loud to my friends for a laugh.
It seems like I only date guys whose name start with the letter “R”. Roger… Robert… Roy… Ricky… Talk about confusing my eight-seven year old grandfather. Moving on, I might even move to a new letter.
Recently, I have been running to the first man I first fell in love with- my father. I maybe loosing cool points for visiting and calling too often but he inspires me and brings me hope.
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