Is this what they call closure?
I’m waiting for my eggs to boil. I’m bored. My mind is working overtime. I haven’t exactly been very talkative lately. I’ve tried, and I’ve tried properly; this is the fifth post I’ve written in three days. The previous four were just too messy to be published. So I’m sitting here, with a compulsive thought about not being allowed back in the kitchen before this post is done.
I tried to put words to my thoughts, to find an element of entertainment in the chaos. But my writing was crushed by a lack of structure and relevance, on the screen as well as in my mind. My mind feels a little numb. Something is blocking the way of my inspiration. The quicker I spit out what I want to say, the sooner I can run to the hob where tomorrow’s lunch is counting on me to rescue it from a dreadful, hardboiled destiny.
It’s this whole break-up business that has thrown me off. I feel like the world wants me - no, expects me - to cry over it. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it seems I’m unable to write anything remotely useful until I’ve like, dedicated some of cyberspace to it.
So I’m sending in Bridget:
There we go. I’m single. But I’m not sobbing into my box of Ben&Jerry. Of course it’s sad when things just don’t work out. It’s sad when something good comes to an end. But I have lots of good memories to look back at. I’m happy about that.