Ba-hum-bitch

me, every year from thanksgiving to new years, but gayer

I have been feeling blue lately.

It's the holidays and this is traditionally a time for me to become ultra bitter and jaded and begin spreading the misery around with twice as much vigor as usual.

They say misery loves company but if I'm going to be miserable I only want to watch other people suffer from afar. I don't need to be up close and personal. Those people probably have coffee breath.

This year it is going to be especially bad.

Despite being ignored by my knight in shining hispanic for every holiday we've ever known each other for, including my birthday, at least he was present in his apathy.

His lack of caring was so spontaneous and epic I concluded it must have taken some real effort to put so little into not caring what I was doing for any of the traditional "family" holidays.

I haven't wanted to write about he and I splitting up after five years because I know he sometimes reads this blog and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it affected me enough to actually sit down and write about it.

Well fuck to that I suppose.

While I don't regret doing what I did, it was well deserved and he knows it, I don't know how to process the end of something that long.

I don't know what I'm supposed to feel and when I do feel "things" I don't know what to do with them.

I'm probably the most emotionally retarded person you're ever going to meet via blog.

My family didn't hug and we didn't discuss feelings and we certainly didn't go over any of the critical thinking questions at the end of the chapter called "How to process the end of a five year relationship/friendship with the only person you've ever fallen in love with at first sight and who you never thought you'd have to live without, even though you know damn well it was time to move on and put a period at the end of that sentence." in the book entitled "Teaching Your Emotionally Dead Children How to Feel!"

We were too busy boning up on our knowledge of how to make the perfect cocktail while staring distractedly off into the distance so as to avoid having to look at each other.

While I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands or face when these "emotions" happen and my chest feels like it's going to cave in from the weight of what I can only imagine is my heart sinking into my guts I can tell you if someone were to put the right utensils in my hand I could make you a Gin Ricky you'd never forget while sobbing hysterically and managing not to look at anyone or anything in the room.

It's a gift, I know.

But the worst part?

The very worst part?

How much I hate myself for being the first one, as always, to break down and admit to caring and having real feelings about anything at all, ever, in the history of time.

He may read this, or he may not, and he will smile smugly to himself and think something smug only smug people know how to think while smiling smugly and feel a sense of satisfaction in knowing, in this at least, I am still the weaker person.