It’s easy to become callous after a break up. It’s probably no different when breaking up means a divorce. And, yeah, I know. I just made a post about this not too long ago. But I’ve been doing a lot of “soul” searching these past few months. It’s the price of wanting to put myself back out there. So bear with me, o.k.? Is that cool? Thank you.
Anyway, as I was saying.
It’s easy to become callous—pessimistic, even—after a break up. Probably more so when breaking up means a divorce. Today, a “patron” parked their car in front of another patron’s car. Aware that this might need a visual, I grabbed my phone to snap a picture. Aware that I need a job to live, I realized that snapping a picture would incriminate me, especially if my intent was to post it on my online journal. So putting my phone away, I began making excuses why I didn’t take a picture when the opportunity arose. Instead, let’s use this creative writing training I have to make a visual. Imagine, if you will, a car parked properly in a parking space. You got that? Good. Now imagine another car, parked directly in front of that car in a make-believe parking space. This jack ass boxed in properly parked patron. And while we announced over our intercom (are they still called intercoms?) that jack ass should come and speak to us at the front desk, the jack ass never materialized. This, of course, led to speculation. Speculation led to the conclusion (in my and Crissy’s minds, anyway) that this is a case of a jilted lover.
Now I partook in a lot of callow behavior during break ups. And I fell into the pessimistic trap. I did the woe-is-me routine. I scrawled on my adolescent bedroom’s wall (it’s still there, to this day, people). I wrote angst-filled poetry. There are things I’ve done that I’m not proud of, and some that make me sick to my stomach.
And yet, I’ve come out the other end. I got over it. Sure, there are moments when I sit here and think about the good ol’ days. I think about how things would be if I had tried just a little harder. But no one’s got time to live in the what ifs. Especially if they’ll never come true.
There’s a scene in (500) Days of Summer that comes to mind. No, it’s not that scene. Not that scene either. Yeah, towards the end. The movie’s ending right before its epilogue. Where Summer and Tom have their talk.
As I’ve said in my last post about this, I don’t believe in soul mates. And if I did believe in fate, then each of the people unfortunate enough to love me should be considered soulmates. Because wouldn’t that make sense? Wouldn’t I have encountered all these people in order to prepare myself for that ultimate soul mate?
But what if…What if things were different?
Chapin City Blues 