Word vomit

Wait. So does this mean you’re going to stay single?

When Diane Farr (my heartbreak hero extraordinaire) declared her Year of Self, she set specific parameters for her experience: "So I made my promise to myself that I would not date for a whole year. I needed to move away from marriage and kids defining everything." She then inevitably ended up meeting her husband during… Continue reading Wait. So does this mean you’re going to stay single?

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Word vomit

Realization #4 – I must embark on a “Year of Self”

It has been exactly 25 days since Mr. B killed the dream. During this time, I have eaten my weight in ramen, possibly exhausted Canada's supply of imported merlot, watched 10 seasons of Friends and listened to more Kelly Clarkson than I care to admit to. I am happy to report I am officially a… Continue reading Realization #4 – I must embark on a “Year of Self”

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Realization #3 – There is no path to happiness. Happiness is the path.

When Mr. B arrived, all that was on my mind were the lazy Sunday mornings we would inevitably spend in a quaint European village, in our modest but cozy home with the door I would insist on painting red. The memories we had not yet made, were the ones that kept me hooked. In reality,… Continue reading Realization #3 – There is no path to happiness. Happiness is the path.

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Realization #2 – I’m scared of being alone.

There. I said it. I am a grown-ass, 27-year-old woman who is scared of being alone. Something I truly didn't realize until Mr. B skipped into (and subsequently out of) my life. For the past decade, I have methodically steamrolled from one relationship into the next. Oh, shit ain't working with Mr. Right Now? That's… Continue reading Realization #2 – I’m scared of being alone.

Word vomit

Time-out: A pity party is a shitty party.

I'm taking a quick time-out today from boldly declaring the second of my three major realizations and from brazenly setting forth into my new life as an independent, bad-ass bitch (sorry, Diane Farr). To sum up: Today was shit. Works sucks. I'm out of wine. I'm hyper sensitive and every-day situations are stressing me out.… Continue reading Time-out: A pity party is a shitty party.

Word vomit

Realization #1 – Diane Farr is a bad-ass bitch.

I'm a compulsive researcher. Whenever faced with a dilemma, I turn to Google to impart its infinite wisdom onto me: How do I get over my douchebag ex-boyfriend? How many calories in a tub of Ben and Jerry's? When will my ovaries start shriveling up? WHEN, GOOGLE? WHEN!? Just kidding. Sort of. (P.S. Chunky Monkey… Continue reading Realization #1 – Diane Farr is a bad-ass bitch.

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Getting Over Mr. B…

I woke up yesterday morning feeling relieved. Relieved that Mr. B was not beside me, and that I would not be the one driving him to the airport that afternoon. Relieved I would not be the girl he was leaving behind, to pine after him for the unforeseeable future as he kept me at arm's… Continue reading Getting Over Mr. B…

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Post-Breakup One Week Mark: Back to the 9-5 grind.

I was lucky enough to have had some time booked off over the holidays. Well, on second thought, it may be too soon to use the term lucky without wanting to punch someone. The original intention was to spend my time off having the time of my life with my incredibly thoughtful and loving boyfriend.… Continue reading Post-Breakup One Week Mark: Back to the 9-5 grind.

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One step forward, three steps back…

I shouldn't have rejoiced so quickly and proclaimed myself healed over the grey-sock realization. Coming home to spend the night in my empty apartment has been harder than I imagined. I was feeling better in my childhood home; it served as an escape from reality. I am so goddamn angry and sad all at once,… Continue reading One step forward, three steps back…

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Breakup realization: The tale of the grey socks.

"And suddenly you know. It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings." Last night I ventured back to my empty condo to pick up a few things so I can continue hiding out at my parents' house for one more day. I dreaded this visit. Though Mr. B was not a… Continue reading Breakup realization: The tale of the grey socks.