12 October 2009 at 4:31 pm
My brother makes everything about him. When I tell him I've broken up with my boyfriend, he says, "Where am I gonna stay now?" in reference to my offer to let him stay in my apartment Halloween weekend while I would stay at the boy's. Then he says, "Whatever, you just wanted to break up with someone," effectively accusing me of being a sociopath, someone who derives pleasure from hurting people. When I get pissed, he calls our mom to fix it for him.
I'm glad I haven't bought his birthday present yet. He was going to get a record player; now he's getting a beer.
Sam says, "I never even got to meet him," after she invites her Perfect Couple friends over for breakfast the day we were supposed to spend doing yoga at her fancypants gym. Instead, I suffer, exhausted after dropping Kristie off at LAX at 4am, through brunch with strangers.
I should have known better than to have gone to her or my brother to get me through this.
I've been wearing the same sweatpants for two days, haven't washed my hair for a week, and am aimlessly wandering around Target carrying a 12 pack of toilet paper (I curb spending by only buying what I can carry) when I run into one of my brother's friends. When he asks how I am, I say, "Shitty," and leave it at that. He scurries away quickly.
Crying on and off the entirety of the drive home, I can't face my apartment knowing I'm just going to eat everything even remotely edible, so I go over to Mike K33n's instead. "You're among friends here," he says, and I am. I drink a few beers, and we watch Snatch, and I go home, and I listen to a This American Life episode about break-ups, and I overindulge on yogurt and almond butter, feeling pathetic that I can't even mope correctly with ice cream like you're supposed to, and I pass out at 7pm.
Breakups are the worst.
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