It’s not that easy

Cheating.

I tell myself, it’s one of the most disgusting things a person can do to their significant other.

There’s something so inherently ugly in the word itself, like trying to get away with more than you deserve. Than what is due to you. You’re trying to double the benefits, while weaseling out of the work.

And yet, when it happened, I felt nothing other than a deep, profound sadness, doused with disappointment. There was anger, but that was momentary. It was a side thought to the awning black hole of feelings of grief and loss that were building up in me.

Like when you’re playing Monopoly, 3 hours in, and an opponent flips the board out of anger. Chance cards and Community Chest cards littered about, metallic dogs and hats strewn on the floor, Property cards everywhere. There’s no fixing that, you can’t just put all the pieces back on the board. There were so many cards, tiles, pieces that went into that game, even if you tried to restore everything by memory, something will always be missing, and you’ll realize that it takes little for that situation to happen again.

Who knows what could have happened in our future? Now I’ll never know. It’s not fair that someone decided to end the game for me before I was ready.

During a normal breakup, reasons come up – you weren’t good enough; I don’t love you any more. I would have preferred that. At least I would know he was no longer invested. But he couldn’t tell me why he did it. He wouldn’t even tell me he didn’t love me anymore.

They all wanted me to be mad, angry, furious. Even he was surprised I wasn’t yelling at him all the time.

I couldn’t see the point, and I still don’t. It wouldn’t make me feel better.

He wanted me to give him another chance, to move past it. That was inconceivable to me. How could I take back someone who didn’t hold sacred the same things as me?

As if a person in shock, I wandered around for a while, not able to understand why people were telling me the things they were. Like a victim of a natural disaster who has been rescued, dazed and confused, people tell you to do things, and a lot of the times, they don’t make sense to you. It might seem natural to someone who hasn’t just had their entire world flipped upside-down, but to the person who’s just gone through it, it’s all just background noise.

The part I’m still trying to get past, is how people couldn’t understand how much I still cared about him, even in the weeks that followed. You don’t just go from loving someone to hating their guts in one day (unless of course there’s physical abuse). You are angry with them, disappointed, furious, but you can’t just stop loving them. Not immediately, at least.

I guess though, I still don’t hate him. I pity him. And apparently, that’s one of the worst things you can do to a person.

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Bring on the Sweats (Part I)

I’m a pretty low maintenance girl. I don’t have a skin care regime, rarely wear makeup and frequently forget to wash my face at night. Call it youthful ignorance, but I ain’t got time for all that. Despite this, when it comes down to it, I still love getting done up. Now, it doesn’t happen too frequently, but even I enjoy putting on a full face of makeup and fuck me heels once in a while–but that story’s for another time. Today, I’m going to talk about my everyday, after work look.

I work in a fairly formal office and my outfits usually consist of pencil skirts, slacks and blouses. While the clothes aren’t that bad, it’s still not something I would choose to wear outside of work, and most definitely not at home. From a very young age, the clothes I wore to school and work were different from what I wore at home. I grew up, and still do look forward to house clothes time. I mean, what’s more freeing than shimmying out of a form fitting pencil skirt and into a soft, baggy oversized pair of pants?

Now, what are house clothes you ask? Well, it’s different for every girl. For me, it’s a pair of men’s sweatpants and a random XL shirt I acquired for free. For some of my friends, it’s going pantless, braless and putting on a worn in, oversized sleep shirt. It doesn’t matter what you end up wearing, but we single girls know that once the house clothes come on, there’s no turning back.

My House Clothes

My House Clothes

I’ll be honest. It’s not the prettiest of sights–but you best believe I’m loving it. When in my house clothes, it’s a judgement free zone. I can open that pint of ice cream and binge on reality TV with no shame. That is, until someone comes to the door; then immediately I regret my decision. This can be a delivery man (because you definitely aren’t going out looking like this), your maintenance guy, or a friend, but regardless of who it is you need to think and move quickly. For those of you who choose to stay pantless, you scramble around looking for pants. As for me, I hide behind the door because I realize I don’t have enough time to look “normal.”

House clothes are acceptable because they aren’t permanent. Once you wake up the next morning, you slip out of your 10 year old dingy pajama set and into your sleek pencil skirt with heels, ready to face the world… but what happens when you need to face the world only hours after changing into the comfort of jersey cotton and fleece? It’s a frequent dilemma of mine and it usually happens around 9:30 pm on a Friday night. What do I do? I’ll tell you in Part II.