Cruel Intentions

This just in: break-ups are cruel. It's such a swirling, mix of emotions that don't follow the time-table they're meant to. The sadness, the tears, the anger, the I'm-going-to-be-ok attitude don't always follow the scheduled order that they're supposed to. Relapses happen. At least, they happen to me.

Last week, I was hit with The Rage. It came in fast and furiously. It was the perfect emotional opportunity to rebound. As I said before, the 23-year-old baby-child downstairs moved out the day after the cute neighbor's fuckwittage became official, so he was out. Shame, too. He was cute. He was 23. He would have been perfect.

Then I totally perked up when I realized that The Dark Horse was actually back in town before I left! Yessssssss! Someone I feel comfortable with, as we've already done this song and dance before! The perfect rebound! I went ahead and emailed him, telling him I would love to see him before I leave! (I figured I could go ahead and use the ! I mean, what did I have to lose?) Only to find out that he has settled down with his One and Only, the same ex-girlfriend who had left things open-ended with him. They finally got their act together and are finally living their Happily Ever After, apparently. Fuck. I mean, I'm actually quite happy for him, and honestly, I'm glad I was dumped for someone who was his One True Love instead of a meaningless fling. But this wasn't helping anyone out.

I tried going to a party of a friend of McNerdy's with D.B., thinking a party would be a good place to mingle, as everyone was a friend-of-someone's, only the party was pretty small, and there were twice as many women there as men. The men that were there were completely undoable (i.e., McNerdy and D.B.) and people thought D.B. and I were a couple. Fail.

Is the universe conspiring against my rebound?

Then Grayer told me she might have a solution to my "booty problem." When I figured out that she was talking about my need for a rebound and not where to hide some buried treasure, I asked her what it was.

"Bernard."

"Huh?"

"My roommate."

"Yeah, what about him?"

Sigh. "I think my roommate Bernard will sleep with you."

"Oh. You sound like a pimp."

Now, I really, really appreciate you looking out for my needs, Grayer. However, the best way to handle this probably would have been NOT to tell me about this plan. Now what will happen is, I will show up at your place, and obviously see Bernard, and that's when things will get awkward. Then when nothing has happened by the time I leave, I'll feel completely rejected, even though I never made a move due to the awkwardness.

Now I'm home at my parents' house, sitting in the bedroom I spent my teenage years in (although it's been tastefully redecorated), with absolutely no chance in hell for a rebound. I've just had a relapse into the crying, sobbing, hiccuping stage, most likely due to the fact that 1.) I didn't get a chance to rebound properly and 2.) I'm at my parents' house. There's really nothing else to do but think about it.

And yes, I know I'll have so much more fun in London now that I don't have to worry about a long-distance relationship, and yes, I know I'll find my One and Only someday, but that still doesn't change the fact that this one failed, when I oh-so-wanted it to succeed, and therefore, I feel a bit like I've failed.

See, it's a cruel thing these break-ups. Just when you think you've made progress, you're right back where you started: curled up in the fetal position, willing it all to go away. Cruel indeed.