Random thoughts while driving to work

Break-ups.
Rest assure, Jon-Jon and I are just dandy. Here, let me quickly give you my train of thought. "What to write about. Exs. No, exs are such a negative subject and, personally, a waste of time. The Man. I'll write about how we met. Oooh, that's good. But wait, what about that time between the ex and The Man? Shoot, I will never forget how much break-ups hurt."
So there you have it. Break-ups.
I remember being the breaker-upper. Sure, I was the one who got to call the shot and sort of prep for the situation. But it still sucks. If you're an overall good person, you don't want to be the asshole. And that's what you are when you're the breaker-upper. Doesn't matter if you didn't cheat. Doesn't matter if it's because you need to focus on something else (and when is it ever really that?) It doesn't matter what wonderful rationale you may have in your pocket. You're still the asshole.
I remember wanting to do it for a while but being chicken. And I remember the moment where I just broke. That's the only word I can think to describe it. He had flaked on meeting me and my friend in the city because he was sick and he had wanted me to end the night with my friend right then and there, go home, and take care of him. I remember not feeling a twinge of sympathy but feeling very frustrated and exasperated. I remember him saying, "Do you want to break up with me or something?" just to be dramatic. But, to his surprise, I answered and said yes.
I also remember being the brokee (you know what I mean.) Well, I was cheated on so "same smell, different taste." I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't breathe. I wish I could say I was exaggerating, that I took it a lot better than most, that I was one bad ass mo'fo. But I would be lying. I was a freakin' wreck. I could not stop crying. What's funny is I wasn't even in love at this point. I just felt betrayed. I think what freaked me out is that I had no control and that person's love seemed like one of the few sure things in my life.
I smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. I would take advantage of happy hours during the week. I went out every weekend because I couldn't stand being by myself. I talked to anyone who would listen about how big of an asshole he was. I was hurt, I was angry. I was scared to death that no one would love me again. At least, as much as he did and he obviously didn't love me as much as we both thought he did.
It took a while. I think it took at last six months before I could sleep through the night. Eventually, I was OK with being home on a Saturday night and just watching TV. I knew when I was no longer sad and bitter that I was OK with being a single woman. That I liked being a single woman. Because it was far better than being with someone who was all wrong for me. And then one day, and I wish I could remember the exact day, I was actually able to say that I am HAPPY. My life is good. I have a marvelous family, fantastic friends and a truly good life. (Sure, I bawled my eyes out watching "In Style: Celebrity Weddings" but who doesn't? I didn't even want to get married!) Despite that, I was a happy young woman. I was in my mid-20s, ready to kick some ass and take some names.
Then, some months later, I met The Man. But that's another entry.