If I’d have known then what I know now

While watching election coverage on MSNBC, I got bored (oh, the ADD) and began perusing the internet. When I saw Mim online, I gchatted her to tell her how much I loved her recent vlog.

We got to talking about miscellaneous things. BE. The election. Movies that make us cry, etc.

(For the record, the movie that makes me SOB audibly—so much so that I usually have to towel off afterward—and usually causes me to end up sleeping like a baby that night after all that melodramatic catharsis, is Charlotte’s Web.)

Mim suggested I watch What Dreams May Come, as it is one of those types of movies.

(Just READING the description of that movie made me want to cry. Damn this IUD and these unexpected hormones.)

So I added it to my Netflix queue and went on my merry way.

Or, so I tried.

This thing Netflix does when you add a movie to your queue, which is incredibly useful and convenient, is that it suggests other movies SIMILAR TO the movie you just selected.

One of those movies it selected for me after I added What Dreams May Come was The Science of Sleep.

I have never seen this movie. I do not know, nor do I care to know, anything about it.

Then where are you going with this pointless rant, LRC?

Well, I’ll tell you.

A few months ago, a friend of mine had a going away party because he was to be moving away to California for God knows how long. During the party, he had everyone draw numbers. He then threw every DVD in his collection on the living room floor. Whoever had their number drawn, got to pick a DVD. The process repeated until every DVD was gone.

Adam picked The Science of Sleep.

AH. NOW it gets interesting.

Remember Adam? The younger guy who absolutely stole my heart (and my sense of reality) for a few weeks and then discarded it like it was the watered down remains of a skinny iced vanilla latte?

Yeah, that one.

So eventually the DVD ended up getting left at my house. We were going to watch it, but, uh, OTHER THINGS prevailed.

(Sex.)

So when things started going sour with us and Adam basically curb-stomped what was left of my self-respect after the breakup with Murray, I pulled that DVD out from my TV stand.

And commenced to smash it into tiny pieces.

There was screaming. There was crying. There was melodrama.

(And an ensuing hangover the next day.)

The point of my post is this. All that pain. All that confusion. All that ANGER I felt that night?

Is gone.

And has been for months.

At that moment, I felt as if I were this pathetic, insignificant little flea who could NOT see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

I felt used. I felt unloved. I felt . . . empty.

And now?

. . . Adam who?

Things like this serve as a reminder to me. Remember that phrase, This too shall pass? It may sound cliché, but damn it. It’s clichéd for a reason.

IT’S TRUE.

That thing that may be absolutely ass raping your emotions? That thing that may cause you not to want to get out of bed in the morning?

In a month . . . hell, in a week, maybe even by TOMORROW . . . that thing will be SO INSIGNIFICANT to you.

And you’ll move on.

And you’ll be able to enjoy that skinny iced vanilla latte with a ginormous grin on your face because DAMN IT, YOU ARE GOING TO BE OK.

GOOD, even.

Remember that.