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By CordovaGirl Date: 2003 Aug 17 Comment on this Work [[2003.08.17.01.39.20269]] |
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When is it that you finally realize it's over? No, not in the "it's-over-because-he's-not-calling-anymore" sense. When the mere thought or mention of his name doesn't mean going for the Puffs, or spending your employed hours trying to figure out how or why it all went wrong, and where he is right now, and who he's with, and how you hate her already, even though you don't even know her. But in your mind, your heart, you think you do. So when does that all quit? Or where? Standing in the supermarket aisle trying to figure out if Ragu or Prego would go better with the spaghetti dinner you're romantically fixing for yourself tonight? And why does that even matter? Why is there such a competition between two sauces that are obviously meant for the same thing, to be devoured by people who probably don't care which goes on thicker? As long as it does what it's supposed to. Wasn't that the same situation for us? Meant for each other, not caring or knowing who was laying it on thicker, only wanting to be devoured by the hungry, infinite passion that we saved for after dinner every night.... Well, anyway someday that will end, and someday the issues abounding your abnormally analytical mind about him will somehow seem to be taking up more space then they need to. And you'll push them to your mental "recycle bin," hopefully never to be restored, unless you find a missing DLL in an old shoebox of his letters (aka "Delayed Love Longing") that restores every analytical issue you ever mentally debated over. And suddenly, you realize that it will never fully be over. You'll always have that issue where you see the closed-up restaurant you had your first real dinner date at--they never did have the best food, maybe that was why we didn't last either...Or you smell him on a sample card when passing by the cologne counter, and the overly make-upped girl behind it tells you your man will be a hundred times sexier with this scent...and you politely inform her the nostalgic image of that truth just made your day a hundred times worse. Because you're sure his girlfriend already found that out and bought him a year supply. Maybe it's this girl, even though you know deep down it's not, but don't want to risk making the situation worse by asking. It's sometimes better to just not ask about why things happen the way they do, or why we're still reaching for the Puffs even though that letter has far outreached it's expiration date, but somehow still found a way in the shoebox you just acquired after needing solace from the cologne counter incident. But sooner or later, you learn to withstand the pain and continue on, fixing spaghetti dinners for yourself and spending your time in supermarkets, superhumanly controlling myself when your scent wafts thru the spaghetti aisle, from a man whose girlfriend obviously figured was a hundred times sexier with it on, and wanted me to jealously figure that as well. But right now I need to figure out if I want Prego or Ragu tonight, and I'm not leaving this area until his scent disappears and I realize there's no difference between them, because if I start figuring out why Prego is so much better than Ragu, and why he ultimately decided to leave me for the other one, I'll need to go to the Puffs aisle and I don't have space in my cart or my recycle bin for that issue right now. |