Life. A little more open-ended every day.

Shitty judgement can come in a wide variety of browns. It builds up quickly and, before you know it, a heaping fecal Jenga tower stands before you. It's only a matter of time before you tug out the wrong turd and the whole crappy structure collapses. So what do you have then? A smelly pile of shit. And you're standing in it. Far beyond the point of demurely scraping it off on the curb, you realize there's no option but to throw your sneakers away. And they were your favorite sneakers.

"Hey, check it out! I've got more problems for the
problem pile!"

"Sweet! Me too!"

Excusing my in-eloquence, this is more or less what happened to my relationship. 

And now I stand before you, Hilary Hayward, single. In all my glory. 

Check out my blog. You know you want me already.

SIGH.

In all seriousness, this isn't what I wanted. We were a happy couple, most of the time. But sometimes the world has other plans for you. So here I am, sitting on my bed, typing this blog at 2:22 in the morning, wondering what to do with a life that becomes a little more open ended every day. A gorgeous flower arrangement is sitting on the night stand beside me, delivered this afternoon from a friend who wanted to offer his condolences. I don't think I've ever had Happy Breakup flowers before, in celebration of my mourning. I know this wasn't the intention, but it makes me laugh to think of it that way. I have a strange and twisted sense of humor. Sue me.

Yesterday I drank a bottle of wine in a very nice bathtub. Tonight I went to a diner and enjoyed two cups of coffee and an order of gravy fries at midnight, all the while struggling to not cry between fat-filled bites of fried potato, beef stock and melted American cheese. Can a heart still break if it's glued together with lard?

Tomorrow I am going to Boston to see friends. I don't know for how long. Until I run out of money or am ready to come back, I suppose. This plan could only be thwarted by two things: 1) My check does not arrive in the mail. 2) I get called in for another job interview on Tuesday or Wednesday. For the first time, lo and behold, I find myself hoping for an empty email box. Pardon my language, but I just want to get the fuck out of this city for a few days. I think I need to. It's high-time.

I planned on switching the subject to wittier and less depressing topics before calling it a night, but exhaustion is really setting in. I've been so tired lately. So I think I'll just cut my losses and vow to make the next one cheerier. If I were holding a wine glass right now, this is what I'd toast:

To new beginnings, to rediscovering myself by myself, and to whatever comes next.