It’s been a cruel summer. You know you’re feeling rough when you’re watching the new Matthew Perry show about being sarcastic and you start crying because you totally. use. humor. to. deflect. pain.
Where do I start on my latest summer in NYC? I remember Summer 2011 being so fun and carefree, but 24 brought a different feeling entirely. One of my dearest friends followed her heart and moved back to Rochester, and bed bugs immediately followed. Coincidence? Definitely.
Nevertheless, having bed bugs was seriously stressful, and I haven’t felt un-stressed since then. But as my life has started to decompress, I am starting to feel the loneliness that I have been, perhaps, ignoring because I was stressed. And suddenly, in moments of weakness, the tears boil over causing me to cry in places I would have never dreamt of releasing such feelings before. I pride myself on strength and also my hair because it is very pretty, and I feel myself losing grips with that strength.
This woman doesn’t let the hardships get to her.
I dated someone over the summer who I thought would end up being very special. I was mistaken, and sad, and felt quite silly in thinking he was the right person to let into my heart. Especially since I don’t allow that very often. The cherry on that sundae (shit I really don’t know that saying) is that he so was not finished with his ex all summer, as he had led me to believe, and I was duped yet again. Don’t feel sorry for me though, because I do not feel sorry for myself. I saw this “woman’s” internet dealings and feel really fucking sorry for her. She is, in his words, truly a complete psycho. After being a little creepy myself, and stalking her twitter, I want to shake her and tell her to just fucking move on — this dude with a gut and a pet bird is so not worth trying to make him notice you. And FYI, “ingy,” complaining about how heavy your period is on the interwebs is not exactly….enticing to a dude you dumped you.
I can’t be sure what this post was supposed about because I am writing while drinking because I am practically fucking Hemingway except I don’t live in Paris and also he was crazy handsome.
I guess I am just ready for the next adventure, whatever it may be.
Except, what up universe? Pleaaase don’t send me bed bugs again because that was….horrific. A post for another time? Writing about it still makes me itchy.
P.S. Thanks to a very faithful reader, you know who you are, for reminding me that there is always humor in life and to him, I am “semi-famous.”