As I drive into work, defending my sanity against every insane Monday driver hell bent on making it to work two seconds before myself, I sit in my car as many do, pondering about the days events, loathing the dreaded Monday, the assurance of traffic after work and praying to whichever higher power there is that granted the will of having my car start flawlessly one more bone chilling morning. But as I sit here, I realize how mundane a “bad” day is for me or rather, a deary Monday morning. Have I woken up in a trench filled to the brim with stagnant water, thanking and praying possibly to another higher power, that the breath I just took wasn’t my last nor will the next one be? My ride to work did not consist of having the vehicle next to me be there one minute, and the next a smoldering pile of metal that once housed friends I grew up with. Though I should, and it shouldn’t be a day written in a calendar to make me do so, be thankful that I woke up to an alarm clock this morning instead of gun fire. That I put on my pants one leg at a time, instead of putting on my legs one at a time. Thank you for defending this wonderful country I have the pleasure, the right and the freedom of calling home. And why? Because your alarm clock was gun fire, your traffic was the fellow soldiers you ran with towards a fate unknown, and your home was briefly a trench filled to the brim with stagnant water. 
I’ll take that Advil now
Every morning I wake up in one of two moods, depending on the prior nights events. The first mood is brought on by the responsible-me; where I went to bed early, only played on my phone for half an hour whilst lying in bed and got roughly eight hours of sleep. This results in me grumbling when I wake up; “I should have gone to bed earlier”, and promptly drag my butt out of bed and zombie it for the rest of the morning.
My second mood is a result of denial me… morning-me hates denial-me. I watch scary movies until late at night whilst alone at home, run around the house as fast as I can turning all the lights off, and touch neither of the steps on the stairs due to the fear of a hand reaching through the railing enclosing my ankle in it’s cold, clammy claw, inevitably dragging me into the deep, hollow depths of my basement. Due to this irresponsible decision, I stay zombiefied a little later into the morning the following day.
Not being one for coffee, the whole waking up process usually comes to full tilt once traffic starts. You see, I am in a good mood no matter what way I have spent my night, what determines the longevity of this bright-eyed and bushy tailed happiness is based solely on the one thing every single person dreads the most, besides forgetting to check the stall beforehand as to whether or not there is toilet paper enough for a human-being or a shrew… that is traffic.
Traffic has the amazing ability that can turn Mother Theresa into the spawn of the devil, such as Chucky, in three seconds flat. Normal every day people turn into gremlins that have been fed after midnight and had water poured on their heads. Lefts become rights, reverse is the new forward and amazingly enough, horns actually have the life span of 30 second or more. The emotions you feel after emerging alive, like a soldier slowing walking through the smoke of a freshly ended war zone, his hair glued to his head, his blood just another substance that is layered across his skin along with the mud, sweat and tears , and this questioning look upon his face, wondering what had just happened and if his reality was really the same as everyone else.
Traffic, in my mind, also encourages smoking, due to the fact that after parking your car, you light up a smoke because the amount of adrenaline rushing through your veins is the same amount you have right after those intense orgasms. Traffic is cancer causing, that’s my point. If not brain hemorrhaging, it’ll get you with high blood pressure, or even jail if you give in to that little devil on your shoulder screaming to take that bastard out for not indicating the fact that he planned on cutting in with about as much space to fit a lawn tractor in.
The types of vehicle surrounding you also help indicate the type of morning you’re going to have. I cannot stand Mercedes, Volkswagen, Audi and BMW drivers. They all seem to meet up once a week exchanging ways they can cut you off, aggravate and annoy you enough that putting a second mortgage on your house just to pay off the damage you’re about to do to their vehicles, seems like a worthy and dignified cost. Buying a vehicle that costs more than some peoples yearly salary is fine if you can afford it, but the attitude isn’t 
an extra perk that comes with an over priced piece of metal.
In the end, after the bumps and grind of making it to work at the ungodly time that I do, my day always starts off the same… I’ll take that Advil now.
As I sit here on a cold October afternoon in a Java U, I decide to do the one thing every girl out of a relationship dreads on doing… looking up their ex on Facebook.
Why do we do this? Why do we feel the absolute necessity of testing ourselves to see if our heart can live up to the challenge this time? Will my heart beat at an awkward rhythm this month, as I vehemently deny it ever did last month.
A brief recap I guess is in order, to help any guy who may have stumbled upon this ever so common blog among the millions out there; whereas any girl who’s ever had a relationship can usually sympathize immediately. I dated this guy, we’ll call him Joe (as I’m in the middle of watching the ever so infamous Joe Black due to my Brad Pitt fascination at the moment. Remember, single lady on the prowl here). We dated for a year and a half, and at about the three month mark, I probably should high tailed it out of there.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to not think I classify any guy who’s ever exhaled in the world a pig, slob or egotistical maniac, but rather a girl who just happens to choose some rather common qualities among the guys I date (there have only been three, to clear up any provocative thoughts that might’ve just surfaced).
I won’t get into the dirty details for now, but I was the one who broke it off. I waited a fantastic month to start dating someone else. Bad move? Probably. Do I regret it? Well, I’m single again, so there’s a common occurrence as you can see. I’ll clear up any conspiracy theories arising, no I did not break up with Joe for … Bob, we’ll call him Bob (because Bob reminds me of blob and I don’t like to think too fondly of that particular ex, therefore he is a blob. Bob the blob).
I moved too quickly and didn’t get over one ex, but rather “forgot” about him by dating another. Now I have the lovely task of getting over two break-ups at the same time. And, as hard as it is to admit, I miss Joe every now and again. I spent a year and a half with him, it makes you get to know them, especially if it’s 24/7. He had some pretty outstanding bad qualities, but he also cared for me, loved me and tried when he wanted to. The little things started to really stand out because they were so few and far between. I would spend pay checks on him, and all I wanted was a smile, which I got. He was thankful, but I also think he resented me in a way as well, which probably aided in our relationships demise.
So why do I sit here in this coffee shop writing about an ex all my friends probably believe I’m over, and am halfway over the second one by now? Because I pulled the stupid helpless romantic move and Facebooked him. He’s lost weight and now has a job, as far as my stalking abilities have been able to verify. Did that cause that ever annoying rapid heart beat where it makes it feel like your heart is running a marathon up your throat and the only thing holding it back are the rest of your organs? Oh yeah. But it helps too, because it does help me know that I can still feel, I can still have emotions towards something, even though every break-up hasn’t been the prettiest.
I don’t want to classify every guy under the same category, I love my dad too much for that. Am I over my first ex? I believe so, but memories being the awful beautiful things they are, strike up only the good times, which I miss. Am I over my latest ex? Yes. that was relatively easy to be honest, though there are ups and downs still. I don’t believe I necessarily miss the guys that were once in my life, but rather the thought of hogging the blankets from someone else. Of not being able to finish my meal, and knowing they’ll have it for a midnight snack. Being able to throw every pillow on the ground, because the most comfortable spot is when my head rests in the crook of his arm, with my hand resting atop his chest. The small talk that occurs right before sex, because the relationship is still in the honeymoon stage and both of you want to initiate it but are both shy and nervous. I miss the first kiss, the way your heart does that marathon, but for all the right reasons. The first fart, because the look on his face is priceless. The first date, and the gossip all your good girl friends want to hear about when you get home much later then you should. The way only three hours of sleep feels like a full day, because you spent the night texting him, trying to figure out if he shared the same feelings as you. The awkwardness of it all, that’s what I miss. When a relationship gets passed a year, all the new things that couples do has been done a few times each. The rush of a shared experience is somewhat gone. It could just be that I haven’t had the right one, but it’s the only things I can really relate to. You remember the awkward times, because they make you feel young and inexperienced and scared, because nothing is in your control and you thrive off the adrenaline.
I don’t expect followers, I don’t even expect anyone to find this one blog in a vast sea of online diaries. I stalked an ex, immediately regretted it and thought the best thing to do was to write about it. Why? Sometimes it helps to share, but mainly because I want to actually look like I’m doing something whilst I sit and wait in this coffee shop.
Simply Makes You Stranger 