Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Achingly Ordinary

Break ups are ordinary.

In the past six months alone, you'd probably need more than one hand to count all the broken hearts you've needed to mend with vodka and would probably need a Great-Wall-of-China- sized abacus to count all the used Kleenex you had to help throw away.

You'd expect that we'd be so used to break ups by now that we wouldn't even mind it that much. That the whole process would take no longer than this:

"Oh, you're leaving? Ah, yes of course it is you and it isn't me. I know, I know. Yes, run along now, I have to call (name of best gal pal) and ask her to buy me (brand of vodka). Oh! And can you return my (insert valuable item here) tomorrow? And would you mind if I kept your (insert ex's items here)? What about the (insert gift you've given him in the past)? Oh, just burn them. Sure, thanks. Have a nice life, fucker."

We could print those lines on an index card and just fill it up and hand it over the next time we are at the receiving end of a dump.

But no matter how ordinary it is, how terribly usual and predictable, we still seem to be so shocked by the whole thing. The first thought in our heads is usually "How could this be happening?" despite knowing that, statistically, it was bound to have happened.

My very first relationship lasted for 7 years. I thought we'd go the way my parents did and beat the odds. (My parents are freaks of nature who fell in love in high school and never broke up. ) When he finally broke up with me, I was devastated.

And at the moment, it didn't seem to matter how many rescue-missions I've staged for girl friends who were wallowing in self-pity and Boys 2 Men CDs, it didn't matter how many blind dates I've helped set-up, it didn't seem to matter the mountains of consolations I kept in my head, it didn't seem to matter that I had a wealth of experience nursing back other people's hearts...I found myself still at a loss with what to do with my own.

Break ups are ordinary. The pain they bring, not so much.

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