I don’t want to wax emoetic over the fact that D just dumped me last night, three hours before my shift for work. Boyfriend is in Galera right now, and after two days of being incommunicado, he finally texts me. What we had was awesome, but hey, let’s stop blah blah blah. I told him I always kept my end of the bargain (kinda), and that I respect his decision, but I’m not about to be friends with him.

And that I don’t know which is sadder: the possibility of me never having good sex again, or that I’ve finally lost him :cute:. But enough about that. Let’s quote one of my favorite break-up songs: LiLo’s Over (by the way, I’ve reconstructed my Oh Well— WHAT WASTED UNCONDTIONAL LOVE!— playlist to include some RnB songs for major heartbreak. Oh why did I have to fall for a man who listens to RnB).

I watch the walls around me crumble, but it’s not like I won’t build them up again.

I realized over coffee, cigarettes, and the Oh Well playlist that I’m capable of getting even without getting mad first. In a demented and masochistic way, of course. Running to his ex and spilling the beans (oh, did I mention? They broke up last week) isn’t something I’d do— that’s, like, totally B-class you-slept-with-my-boyfriend-you-slut! drama; and I’m all for the bitch-slut-whore-you-slept-with-my-friend!!! kind of thing. B+ drama, what’s up.

In other news, I fell down the stairs last Thursday and sort of sprained my lower back and my left arm. The new boytoy and I were supposed to go out for drinks Friday night, but I was too plastered from lunch (I kidnapped one of my co-workers and made it my mission to turn her into a Southern version of me. Translation: Project “Let’s Make Vida An Alcoholic”. We started drinking at 12 noon) and had to take a nap to prep myself for another night of fun social casualties. I woke up Friday night with MAJOR CHILLS, like mehn, my teeth hurt so much from chattering non-stop for two hours.

The spoiled brat in me kicked in— boytoy offered to take me to the hospital the next day (after WE have OUR car carwashed), which turned into “Do you want me to bring you to the hospital right now?”, to which I replied with an “Are you fucking kidding me, can’t you see it HURTS to even move my toes right now???”

He got me out of my miniskirt and put me in sweats, socks, and his jacket. Basically, his “I’m gonna rape you tonight” statement turned into “I’m getting you medicine, and you better eat something”.

Oh, and I’m at work. I refuse to take more paracetamol and mefenamic acid, because I am aiming for the clinic to send me home by lunch. So I can sit in my Vortex, smoke a pack of Marlboro Reds, and listen to the Oh Well playlist.