I could have taken a picture of my bent copy of Hopscotch blowing open next to a caipirinha in an outdoor café, water droplets sweating down the glass, and it would have seemed the ultimate in tropical vacation relaxation, although at that moment I was feeling empty and desolate at the flat possibility of never being loved again.
Let’s be honest, honest like we’ve never been. Let’s tell each other the truth about things, why not? The blunt horrible fat-legged truth is what really gets someone to like you, not those drippy approximations; no one falls in love with you until you show them some grit.
It’s not that I haven’t tried to forget you, I have. My best friend still thinks I’m not trying hard enough, I think I am but it’s not helping; it’s that weird sticky residue left behind after peeling a price tag off plastic. Recently I learned there is a term for this. That term is “heartworm.” I feel better knowing that other people struggle with this problem.
I sat in the examination room for a few more minutes and tried to process. I tried to imagine a living thing implanting itself inside of me and growing there, feeding off my energy. It was unreal. It was nine weeks old.
When it feels right it’s going to make you feel level, supported. Everything will stand still and make sense for a minute; suddenly you’ll have the last word in the irritating crossword puzzle. You’ll fill it in, stand back and acknowledge, and everything’s going to be right where you put it. And then everything will be clear.
I have an embarrassing confession: I love Jenna Marbles. For the tragically unfamiliar, Jenna Marbles is a hot girl on YouTube who weekly bestows genius pearls of life advice on her viewers while wearing a turtle backpack and balancing cute dogs on her chest.
Maybe you’re the one getting married and you don’t want to vom at your own wedding, which is pretty legit. But, don’t be surprised if everyone in your wedding party does — good job scheduling a May 6th wedding, you sadist.
Quiet your own voice. Don’t do or say anything even mildly transgressive for fear of looking, sounding, or feeling ridiculous. Don’t make any definitive statements; keep your sketches and bad poetry confined to a journal and shake your head vehemently if someone asks to see.
But I’m going to tell you right now, I’m not upset about being single. In fact, I would venture to say I love it.
Thus candy buttons, the most aggravating sweet treat ever, were born. Here’s how you eat them: peel one off ever so slowly so as to avoid getting that obnoxious chunk of paper. Get chunk of paper nonetheless and swear under your breath.