It's a good thing that I can write. As Anne Frank wisely put it years back, "Paper is more patient than man." You can write things on wood pulp that you won't normally blurt out to strangers on the the side walk.
Writing is the cheapest form of theraphy. It keeps me sane. Give me a piece of paper and a good pen and I'll be as happy as a clam.
I remember the day when I surrendered the wedding and engagement rings to my mom. I told her to keep it and never show it to me ever again. But I still do remember that months before that I was happy. I was contented and I proudly showed the glistening rock on my finger to my gal pals and acquaintances. I was busy looking for wedding contacts. I was busy planning on the color motiff of the grand event and who would be the caterer... I even signed up for TheKnot.com's newsletter and created a webpage for my fiance and I. I was that in love...
Or perhaps not.
Perhaps I was just in love with the thought of getting married. Perhaps with everyone getting hitched it fueled me to jumped into the bandwagon and I tried to beat the buzzer too. Perhaps I was just in love with the fact that there was a pricey glittery object on my finger that was the envy of everyone. Perhaps I wasn't really in love with him.
Or perhaps I am just in denial. Because last year I was oh so looking forward for 2010 to start and little did I know that he was going to break my heart on New Year's Eve itself.
My boss told me that I am a work in progress. Hard as I might try to talk and act as sane as possible she knows that I'm fucked up because it can be seen in my work. When she told me that I asked, "So do you want me to resign?" She said no. She said she'll wait until I'm back to my old happy and healthy self.
I wish there is a manual somewhere in order for me to do so.
Sighs.
