Today's mini post comes courtesy of The World According to Scott. One of his friends found this crumpled-up list tossed aside at his gym. No it is not a list of daily affirmations. It appears to be a "to do" list for the author's (can't tell if its a "him" or a "her") impending breakup with "Landon." I'm working on the Miami post, but thought this merited your immediate attention.
No idea whether this is on the level or not, but boy it sure takes me back. Its been years of course since I've been in a nasty breakup ("welcome to Dumpsville, population YOU"), but I sure remember all the fun. Doubting your self-worth. Obsessing over why she didn't want you. Cutting out blow. Doing more pushups. Good times.
Of course, I don't really react by plunging myself into a self-improvement binge, like the author. Its been so long I can barely remember. But it seems like I went to a lot of movies and taped a bunch of albums. [Those archaic terms pretty much date my last bitter breakup]. Seems like I watched a lot of TV too.
But I don't remember having to limit the painkillers to just work. Hopefully the author isn't a brain surgeon (seems unlikely) or air traffic controller (a bit less unlikely) or President of the United States. Nor did I have to cut out blow altogether. [Limiting it to weekends is perfectly reasonable and moderate]. I like how this person thinks tanning, whitening teeth, buying new clothes, and straightening hair is pretty much the same level of self-improvement as norcos only at work. Hey, beauty has no pain.
Kids, this sounds like a fine plan to me. This person should be writing the Time-Life Home Improvement Series installment on breakup response. Or maybe the "Breakups for Dummies" manual. This list includes a lot of positive and constructive ways to deal with interpersonal relationship challenges. Like drinking only four times a week. What do they say? The secret to a long happy life is moderation in everything. I mean, really...
Of course, maybe if the author had done all this stuff before Landon pulled the plug, he/she wouldn't be facing this spiritual crossroads now. No sense closing the barn door once the horses have run.
Which makes me realize, this is a clarion call to launch my own self-improvement program. Let's check my needs against this list. Tanning? Yes. I have that fine "Casper the Friendly Ghost" mid-January sheen working now. Hair? Its mostly all still there, though there's more and more salt mixed in the pepper. Check. Whiten teeth? Yep. Years of Dimetapp, Actified, Benedryl, unfocused rage, and Shipley's Donuts (mmm....) have turned my teeth into that yellow color you see on over-ripe bananas just before they start to turn black. I think its attractive, but survey results don't quite justify that opinion. No blow? Hmm...will try to see that as an opportunity, not a challenge. Norcos only at work? That one I may have to call shenanigans on. I mean, what else am I supposed to do at work? Work? Do you know what I do for a living? I'm an attorney. That is a life of pain. Drinking four times a week? Well, if I must. But it seems like I'd have to sacrifice the beneficent qualities harnessed from red wine. And Southern Comfort. Look what it did for Janis Joplin. New clothes? Absolutely. Some of my clothes date back to 1982 (yes, the Reeder Estate acquired this mint condition Rolling Stones shirt, which continues to fit perfectly, in 1982). I'm preserving these pieces of my wardrobe for the Chris Reeder Wing at the Smithsonian (Air and Space Museum, which actually is an interesting story for another day). Hey, someone in a vintage shop recently offered me $50 for the Grateful Dead shirt I was wearing. Who's the idiot now?
But no moondoggies? What? Aw, mom! You never let us do anything fun! People always are taking things one big step too far. Too much of anything is too much. And why three weeks? How was that time period objectively determined? I'm sure we'd all agree that for at least two weeks after a nasty breakup, no one should have any moondoggies. Two weeks definitely. But three? Three? That's just outrageous. James T. Kirk would never swear off moondoggies for three weeks. Well, not unless his tests had come back positive.
And sex with Chris only? Where am I going to go with that?
Next-ok, back to the Miami post. Really, its going to happen. Just you watch.
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