Meltdown (mostly) over

Aaaaand we're back...

I don't feel the need to provide some big ol' explanation for my sudden (and retardedly dramatic) departure from the blogosphere...those who need to know wha' happened already know, and are certainly completely sick of hearing about it. (Shouts out to Coco, Charles, Lola, Big D, Mathis, Hubbard, Susan and percocet for keeping me off the bridge and reminding me of some basic facts I overlooked for a minute there.)

I will only confirm that yes, I did in fact snap like a dry twig, for reasons that were by and large my own damned fault. My temporary withdrawal from the Ninth Circle was necessitated by my decision not to spew the intimate details of my private life all over the internet, unlike a certain pair of pitifully low-rent individuals I encountered last week. (I'll allow the not-so-dymanic duo to remain nameless, if only in the interest of not inspiring any readers to stab out their own eyes upon examination of their online exploits. Trust me...yick.)

The great thing about all this is that it forced me to do some serious thinking about my...er...issue, as well as about relationships in general. Though I still can't really claim to know shit about shit, I did reach a couple of potential conclusions. So, whether you're interested or not, here you go:

I've come to believe that in order for one to completely, once and for all get over someone she/he truly loved, at least one of the following three things must happen:

1. You've gotta fall full-on, ass-over-teakettle in love with someone else.
2. Your former love must do something shitty enough to you to change the love to real hate.
3. Your former love must sully himself with such pathetic behavior, whether it involves you or not, that you subsequently become nauseous at the very thought of him and wonder what the ever-livin' fuck you were thinking in the first place.

I wish I could say that I lucked into #1 in this particular case. (Clearly if I had, this discourse would be much different.) That's okay...I have no desire to take that road again any time soon. (That was the other conclusion I drew, in case you were wondering. Which I doubt you were.) And once I got over the initial shock of the...yick...that I witnessed, I realized that the witnessing of the yick was actually a huge gift. Now, finally, I see someone for what he really is. The last shreds of the ad he sold me on have been ripped out and flushed down the grubby toilet that he's let his life become. Sad, for him, for so many reasons. But me...I feel better than I have in months.

So that's that. Let us not speak of it again. I'll try to refrain from trauma-induced emotional spasms going forward. (We'll see how long that lasts. I'm still a girl.)