"In every breakup there is a winner and loser -- with the very rare tie."
At first, I was the clear winner. I moved in to my own awesomely furnished place, maintained my good job, and maintained proper grooming habits. Plus, everyone (including his family) "sided" with me. And I was happy. Really happy. Finally, and for the first time in years. He was a messed up, horrible horrible wreck that had to move in to his parent's house when he realized he couldn't afford the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed without me footing the bill.
Nine months later...
Oh, man. He has moved on in a big way. He has resumed showering. And wearing pants. And shoes. And brushing the teeth. He has a new place, a "new" girl (GIRL) with a rockin bod, and seems happy. I know, right?!
Me? I'm 40 pounds overweight, at the same job, same place, same same same. Sigh. Class has its place, for sure, but I'm about ready to be a classless hussy. I want to do something crazy and interesting and spirited. A small percent of me wants to show him up and make him regret it all. But mostly I'm just ready to get back to being me.
4 hours ago