it's a little bit like rabid butterflies.

You know that delicious butterfly lovey-dovey sensation you get in your stomach when you see or hear something cute about someone you care for? Now imagine those butterflies are rabid. Then zoom out and ask yourself why you would intentionally continue to do this. Good question. It's because you're an idiot.

So dating a literally-minded someone and working in a bookstore is great. Because you see interesting things and ideas for presents and you chat with people who like this kind of book or that kind of book and it sounds like something your significant other would like and you tuck it away in that mind-pocket to tell them about it later, or maybe a deeper pocket that's for the present ideas.

Therefore, the exact same thing happens when you go to work post-breakup, except instead of that rainbows and fuzzy feeling, you feel like you ate a burrito made of napalm and various acids. Here is a tip for those times: coffee is not helpful. It is, however, helpful in getting a complete ton of distracting busywork done. But the more mindless the task, the more you're going to see that Ireland-themed St. Patrick's Day display table and think about how you're never going to take a trip to Ireland when her grandmother finally accepts you.

Okay, disclaimer. On a re-read of this entire blog thus far, I seem like a crazy pants. Let me be clear: this is a coping mechanism for releasing the neuroses. I am, believe it or not, not like this all the time. Just, like, 2-3 times a day where it's bad enough I have to expel it in blog form. Word vomit. While on the subject of how I am strangely not a complete cripple from this, I'm pretty sick of the pity eyes. Like. It's kind that my close friends and siblings are all "hey buuuudy, just checking up on you. How ya doooooin? You want a soooooda?" and that's fine. But literally everyone else -at both jobs- is giving me the pity eyes. Which just makes me feel deflatedly pathetic.

I have to say, as much an obstacle as the long-distance thing was to the relationship, I am eternally grateful for it now, because I know seeing her for one solitary second would liquefy all my mettle and resolve and dealing-with-it-ability. As it stands, I might be able to cobble something of myself together before I am ever faced with the possibility of her real-live presence.

In related news, I'm coming up on my 27th birthday and have no lifeplan whatsoever. The Liz-Entangled co-life plan is still viable without Liz, I just don't know where I should aim my trajectory. Northampton with sis is an option. Vernon/Manchester area will welcome me back with open arms, I'm sure, but I see that as a defeatist backslide. Also Joey and Philly might be possible. But that's only according to Chrystina. Would be nice to be close to Steph and lil bro, but they're both leaving there within the next year, anyways. The big thing is I have to get out of Delaware. I need to be somewhere there are comic books and indie theatres. And possibly people my own age. Maybe even a few who aren't married, divorced or childed, yet.
Secret internal interests for total fresh start: Chicago, Savannah, Cleveland. Pittsburgh was on there but now that just seems weird and stalky.

I wonder if she realizes how much easier she's getting off. I mean. Not that she isn't feeling this, too. I don't think she's out partying it up. She's got to be hurting, too. In fact, I feel pretty goddamn terrible for dragging her through this a week before finals. But she'll have the break to kind of recover and have fun with her friends and not be constrained into her regular routines. But most of the echoes of our relationship -good and bad- are here in Delaware. So in Nebraska, she has the emotional resonance to deal with, but for me, here, it literally ghosts out of every goddamn thing. My house, my car, both my jobs. She's -we're- everywhere I go. I know, I know. Melodrama-o-rama. But that doesn't stop it being true.

I dont have a witty, Springeresque "final thought" this time.

Sayid ought to be Mowgli in the Fables tv show.