Wow, it’s been a long time since my last post. It’s a lame excuse, but I’ve been busy. Let’s just recap all the things that have happened in the past six months (not necessarily in chronological order).
I graduated from college. Goodbye, Sheffield U! It was sad to say goodbye to the place, but damn, I’d been there for a long time.
I quit my job at the credit union.
My mom was declared in remission, so no more chemo and radiation for her.
I got the job in New York.
I moved to New York.
Heather and I broke up.
Let’s just say the past half-year has been a rollercoaster. Apparently that’s what your mid-twenties are all about; at least that’s what “they” say. Apparently it’s totally normal to take a job so you can be close to your girlfriend and move to a huge new city and not have any money and subsist on ramen noodles and Keystone Light and then have your girlfriend break up with you to be with some douchnozzle named Vaughn (speculating). It’s all part of the process.
For the record, I did not move to New York solely for the purpose of being near Heather or to “suffocate her”. I would be lying if I said she wasn’t a factor in the decision, but the truth is, I love New York and I had a fantastic job opportunity that I would have been crazy to pass up. Like seriously insane. And the job has turned out really well and I love working there, and in spite of all the shit that has gone down in the time that I’ve been here I still really love New York. I am not going to be driven out by bad memories.
Heather and I are still “friendly”, but we’re not friends. It’s difficult to be friends with the girl who broke your heart and to put it simply that’s exactly what she did. Things really started going downhill after our anniversary, and by the time graduation rolled around, the situation was pretty bad. And yes, I selfishly believed that moving to New York and actually being near each other again would help the situation. It didn’t, and that’s where all the crap about me suffocating her comes in, and next thing you know we’re breaking up in my apartment the week before Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t a knock down drag out fight; it was one of those excruciating adult conversations where you finally accept what’s happening and execute the only possible solution. We’ve talked since then, and I’m not just talking about the tearful phone calls in the first couple weeks begging her to give us another chance. We’ve seen each other a couple times, we met for coffee once, and went out for pizza another time. But we don’t talk on a regular basis and we certainly don’t “hang out.” She’s in my life, but on the perimeter. And that’s where she’ll have to stay for now while I get my shit together and try to move on.