Trying Not to Hate the Bride

So I woke up an emotional wreck yesterday and tried my damnedest to do something for myself. By myself. So I went to my favorite restaurant. The Tomato Head. I got a booth so I could sit by myself and write. It would have gone in a totally different direction had I not opted for The Tomato Head. The Tomato Head that is situated right next to a building that doubles as a church on Sunday. A church that as luck would have it was having a wedding in the corridor. A wedding with chick-fil-A nugs. I want to be happy for them, but I’m a little bitter still about Flea Market Guy. And confused… Where the fuck do you get Chick-Fil-A nugs on a Sunday? There are a number of ways I guess.

A.) A family member works at Chick-Fil-A and got up extra early to go to the “office” and whip some up…sauces and all.

B.) They are good Christian folk and good Christian folk help each other out so it was no problem for a random Chick-Fil-A employee to just set their alarm a little early, before church of course, and go do a solid for a fellow believer.

C.) They are yesterdays nugs and are as stale as that marriage will probably be in the very near future.

Did I mention that I’m bitter today? I’m probably more bitter than this ice water with lemon that I’m drinking.

Also, they were singing to each other. Like a fucking Disney movie. Am I mad that she got her prince and that she got nuggets on a Sunday even though I don’t even eat chicken and that she probably has the voice of a fucking angel? Apparently. Apparently, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep and maybe I’m moody and maybe I want everyone to be miserable, but I didn’t. Until I went to my happy place and saw a wedding that I’ll never have. And it’s fine. I’m mostly just working on being an asshole because it’s not something that I usually do and I’m thinking that maybe I should give it the old college try.

Another thing I found out about myself today on top of the fact that I am no good at being an asshole is that deep down, I really hope she gets her happily ever after and I hope he knows how to build bookshelves and fix things around the house and I hope that she never has to worry about him getting drunk and texting his ex girlfriends or forgetting that she exists. I really hope she gets her happily ever after.

I’d like to say that it’s a given that she will because she was married in a church but I have a couple friends who were married in a church who are not living happily ever after. They are just living. So I hope for more than that for her even though she’s a stranger. I mean, she did get nugs on Sunday so she is basically a miracle worker already.

But that’s not where I was going with that. Where I was going was that whenever I decide I need to go find myself in nature or go to my happy place for gravy and biscuits with soysage, I always go through the rolodex of people who I can call to go do those things with me. My friend Maranda. There in a heartbeat. My niece. Always up for brunch. My guy friends who always make me feel like I am awesome and any guy who hurts my feelings is a dickhole. And I always almost make one of the many calls at my fingertips before reminding myself that I need time alone. Even though I am pretty much always alone if I’m not at work, there’s something to be said about taking time to be with yourself. Allowing yourself to feel pain. Allowing yourself to feel lonliness. Allowing yourself to feel anger. Allowing yourself to feel….and process…and deal with it in a healthy way that doesn’t involve bashing someone else or drinking excessive amounts of tequila and hitting on my favorite bartender. He’s off today. Lucky for him. Yes, I know his schedule. No, it’s not a bit weird.

So time alone it is.

I think time alone is good for numerous reasons. One, being that when you run into people and you feel shitty, you never really admit that you feel shitty. Your server is being super nice so you return that and you are super nice. People want to have meaningless conversations with you and you forget for a moment that you were even wallowing in self pity. And you rarely cry when you are out in public alone. With a friend, you might talk yourself into a frenzy of tears that will eventually subside over chai tea with extra honey, but why? Why do any of that to yourself when you are not the fucking problem? And even if you are the problem, why do it? Get your shit together!!

Take a deep breath. Find something pretty to admire. Jump in a quarry and let the water hug you. The great thing about water is that you can’t decipher between splashes and tears. That’s where you go to cry. I’m not sure I’m there yet, but I did bring a bathing suit just in case. I might just hike a trail though. So I brought my headphones just in case of that scenario. Either way, I’ve been giving myself a pep talk all day that it was his loss and that I need to think about something else or think about nothing. But I need to stop thinking about him and what I want him to do because the logical me knows exactly what he is going to do. And none of those scenarios involve him putting me first or even in his top 5 for that matter and who needs that kind of selfishness?

Maybe one day he will get it together. Maybe one day he will be the perfect boyfriend/husband. Unfortunately, it will be for someone else. Maybe he will get Chick-Fil-A nugs at his wedding. Maybe she will be a lucky girl.

Me? I’ll be taking a walk or swimming….

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2 comments

  1. My favorite line you’ve ever written: The great thing about water is that you can’t decipher between splashes and tears.
    So very glad you are back to writing because you do it so well even though you are exposing yourself during these troubled times. Life goes on and we are with you on the ride!

    Liked by 1 person

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