Disclaimer: This post is not at all bitter or resentful and is highly laced with irony and sarcasm.
I am thoroughly resolved to rid myself of all vestiges of the Rambler and the Gambler and the Sweet Talking Ladies Man who was ever-so-briefly not mine whatsoever. No, sir. Down with Love, I say, and down with immature prats who think they can just tell you they Love you and then leave you out to dry when they decide they don't feel like it anymore. Well I just stitched up the sutures of my somewhat-broken heart with chocolate ice cream, a liter of Dr Pepper (Thank God I don't drink. I'd probably be a filthy alcoholic.), and Bridget Jones' Diary. Urban Dictionary couldn't begin to come up with terms vulgar enough for how invariably glad I am to be completely alone and melancholy over the most infuriating twit I've ever been lucky enough to know. Who did not, in fact, take me the way I am, as I at the time thought he did. No. I somehow managed to look beyond everything he actually did and believe what he would say. Manipulation is a bitch. Yes, for any possible conservative readers, I did just say bitch. I intend to say a lot more. You may stop reading, now.
First offense: Trying to change the external me. Wear this; stop lisping; stop biting your nails; grow your hair out; be your natural blonde self; look as nice as possible while I slack off and wear whatever I please and for heaven's sake, quit lisping.
Second offense: I didn't really mean it when I said you should do any of those things, you just took what I said and inferred it to mean that I actually thought you should. I was kidding.
Third offense: The people you call your friends are idiots and I do not like them. In fact, some of your oldest friends I rather think I hate.
Fourth offense: Trying to change the internal me. Learn how to stand up for yourself in any and all situations; cut people out of your life if they frustrate you and drive you crazy sometimes; conflict happens and you should in fact not run from it but face it head on even if it means destroying relationships; don't bother to fix problems you've created, rather, let them fester and eventually seep their way into the inner workings of your life; learn to have no trouble never speaking to certain individuals again; be able to manage the issues you have in your family, especially with your brother (even though it's really your parents' job, have no difficulty stepping in and taking control of the dilemma that is not actually your responsibility); grow a pair and man up, you woman.
Fifth offense: "Do you think that I was not hurt by all of this too?" Not nearly as badly as I was, you insensitive, unemotional, completely unsympathetic, egotistical, problem-causing male!
No! I am through crying over you and how you completely led me on into a blissful aura of feigned attraction in which I truly believed you when you said you Loved me. LOVE does not act like that! LOVE does not say that someone is beautiful inside and out, and then try to make them over, inside and out! LOVE does not say that you were a big embarrassment because you were possibly completely stressed out, more than a little emotional, and about to realize that it had been nine months to the day since all the shit began in the first place, and two years since she'd realized she was completely mad about you, you commitment-phobic megalomaniac!
And yet for some as-yet-unknown reason I am still in love with you and would probably take you back in two and one-half seconds if you deigned to come round again and say all the same stupid things you said before. Probably. It might depend on how much coffee I'd had yet. However, as it stands at this particular moment, in which I am swelteringly hot but too lazy to sit up and take of my sweatshirt, I hope I never have to see or talk to you again. The former I know is a pipe-dream (where the devil did that phrase come from, anyway?), but the latter certainly has its hopes. By eradicating you from my address book, my cell phone, my facebook, my defunct myspace, my picture frames, my filing cabinet, and possibly soon even my photo albums, I may very well get over you.
Not to say that I was not without my faults. No, far from it. You certainly told me of them often enough. And somehow you liked me in spite of my quirks and flaws. Thank you for having so graciously deigned to grace me with your glorious presence night after night, even though you thought I was an emotionally-stunted idiot who happened to have a nice ass. And I enjoyed every minute of it; every minute spent being told that I was much prettier when I quit talking. Thanks a lot!
However, for your future mate's sake, I do hope you manage to grow up. Perhaps then you'll find someone who will stand up to you more and not let you treat them like shit, and whom you will love more than a bonsai tree's amount. Remember, bonsai trees are manipulated to be small, and sequoia trees take hundreds of years to grow so large. So the redwood tree you wanted you didn't wait long enough to get, and the bonsai tree you claimed you ended up with was in fact of your own doing and creation. Have a nice life.
This chapter of my life is officially over. Bring on the next challenge, only please, no more jackasses.
The end.
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