“Keep yourself busy.”
That’s what they say, you know.
Fill your time. Fill your mind. Take up that hobby/language/pottery/writing class. (Uh, pottery? Yes, pottery.) Spend time with family. Go out with friends. Go out. Throw yourself into your work. Throw yourself into meaningless flirtation at the bar. Eat well. No really, eat well. Work off all that relationship weight. Get back into dating shape. Block phone numbers. Block facebook accounts. Ban yourself completely from facebook when you try to create a new fake account so you can spy in spite of your blocking self. Get off the internet. Get off the computer. Just get off (because it’s been a while, right?). Don’t cry. Don’t think about it. Distract yourself with all manner of things, you know, to “keep yourself busy.”
That’s what they say, you know.
Why should you keep yourself busy?
Well, wait. I know why. And I know why. It’s more like “How?”
How are you supposed to keep yourself busy, when you are Already. Beyond. Busy?!
My time and mind are filled to the nanosecond with my number one and only hobby in life: food. Cooking, pseudostyling, photographing, eating, wining, dining, whining, writing (ok, not really writing lately) and everything else associated with and in support of food-on-the-internet. The nearly extinct free-time I (don’t actually) have that aren’t consumed with consuming, I spend with friends or family, but not both because that’s gimpossible. I do go out. Going out, eating well, no really, eating well, is my work and I throw myself into it Every.
(Mom! I told you not to read the parts in parentheses.)
So maybe you actually do need to ignore work for a day or two or maybe even five and be the opposite of busy. Unbusy. Or is it disbusy? Maybe you actually do need to stay in and be alone inside your empty mind for hours and not workout at all except expend the little bit of energy it requires to change from yoga pants to sweatpants. Maybe you do need to sit in a room without internet, with time, with nothing to distract you from thinking about it All. Day. Long.
Because you know what happens when you don’t do all that? When you keep yourself busy to “move on” to “hurry up” and just “get over it?”
You don’t get over it.
In fact you don’t get around it, don’t get through it, don’t get for it.
No. You don’t get for it.
You for get it.
And if there’s one half of “forgive and forget” that you’re going to do (because no one can do both), “forget” is the wrong half. You should (almost) always forgive, but you should never ever forget.
Because if you forget.
If you forget what it’s like to be in a toxic relationship, or what it’s like to be burned by the light of catching him in his infidelities or what’s it’s like for your heart to choke out its own life hour by every waking hour until you fall sleep for relief only to relive its death in a nightmare, or the hurt and pain and confusion of breaking up with the wrong person.
If you forget.
Three-and-a-half, or six or yes, even 18 pathetic years later, you will think breaking up is no big deal.
(No big deal.)
(I’m going to put on my yoga pants and take my weekender tote and my little dog, too and go “think about us” over a bowl of pho by myself because I can’t be with someone who doesn’t refill the Brita pitcher.)
And you might accidentally break up with the right person.
So don’t fill your time and your mind. Don’t take up pottery. (Fucking pottery?!) Don’t go out, don’t work, Don’t workout. Lie on your side and cry for eleven days straight. Feel the weight of everything. Think and dwell and cling to it for weeks, maybe even months because that time doesn’t last. It will pass eventually. They say that, you know. This, too — this heart-breaking little breakup — shall pass. And they’re right; it’s true. The moment will pass, and you’ve got to experience it like a motherfucker so that it’s burnt deep and dark into your heart’s memory forever.
And then guess what. That’s when you’re over it.
I have a few stories to tell over the next few weeks. Or, as we all three well know, over the next few months. One is a beginning. The others are all ends.
I suppose they will find their convoluted ways to meet up in the muddle.
That’s not a typo.
Chicken Pho with Vegetables
Basil, Bean Sprouts, Jalapeno, and Lime Garnish for Pho
Fresh Spring Rolls
8543 Santa Monica Blvd
West Hollywood, CA 90069