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April's theme is
MOTHERS & SISTERS.
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It's hard not to feel uneasy when your boyfriend won't stop talking to a girl that's in love with him.
I. You know you're great and have a lot to offer and bring so much to the table etc etc etc but the normal feelings crop up: insecurity, jealousy, confusion. You thought you were over those petty feelings, but something about this situation really doesn't feel right. You recall the time you picked him up and he had been watching a movie with her. In her room. Alone. You remember when he sat you down after a solo hike they went on and he confessed that he was interested in her and you fled, crying in a strip mall parking lot. But since then you've had discussions about boundaries. Hey, things will be okay. They're okay! He picked you.
II. It's been two weeks since you broke up.
Sitting on the couch in the hot guy from OKCupid's apartment watching your seventh episode of "Trailer Park Boys," you know it's time to leave, but you're just so… incredibly… stoned and have never noticed that the threads of a couch are actually like, medieval tapestries intricately woven and designed for your own comfort and it amazes you and just, like, fills you with immense gratitude, you know?
Reaching for your phone to look up "threadcount" you notice a large pile of Starburst wrappers.
Holy shit. Did you eat all of those Starburst?? You turn to the hot OKCupid guy in a panic and he asks if you're ready for “Round 3” and you wonder if he means weed or sex but before you really try to figure it out you’re out the door.
III. The day he finally tells you that he loves you, you're standing in the room that you've been sharing in your best friend's apartment. You've talked about the girl and boundaries some weeks before and are finally feeling stable. You both find out that you'll be moving to the east coast for the fall and feel hopeful, happy, ready for a change. And he loves you. Which to you, means he won't hurt you like he did before. He knows better now. You trust him wholly.
IV. The night he sits on the floor facing away from you, hunched over a worn copy of Infinite Jest (dear god), telling you about the hiking, and the picnic, and the interest in this girl, all you can think of are the containers of dinner you had packed into old plastic yogurt and butter containers, stacked on top of one another, so excited to bring home to him. Hours later, you find yourself crying in your car in the parking lot of your favorite bubble tea cafe. You look at its illuminated neon sign and laugh. Why are you here? You tell yourself that if you're the one he wants to be with, then that's what matters, right?
V. He's been talking to her every day since you broke up. Today, even. You feel foolish in this conversation meant to be about getting back together. He implies that she needs him, but you realize that he needs her too. And you need something or someone but it seems that you're not going to get it here. It's been over a year now and you're tired of trying to understand. You hang up the phone and ask yourself why, if you deserve the best love like your friends tell you, do you keep ending up alone and confused?
VI. You can never get him to tell you that you're beautiful. You know he must find you attractive if he's dating you, but you wish that every once in a while he'd just tell you so. You compare yourself to the other girl who wields the unworldly combination of a pixie cut, fairy nose, and hips sculpted by the knowing hands of Venus herself, and things don't feel great. So you bleach your hair. You can't change your squid nose but you can change your hair. And your scalp burns because you definitely added too much bleach and you can't handle the scathing sensation (women are gods, you think) and rinse it out and your hair is jail suit orange. You didn't know that was organically possible. Shit.
VII. It's the new year and you're ringing it in at your house with two dudes you barely know. Everyone else is still on their way back from the bar, but for now, you're clinking plastic glasses of cheap wine with Andrew and… Casey? Jason? Mase...on?But you're actually feeling okay, happy, even.
The doorbell rings and your friends file in one-by-one, blissfully drunk. The hot guy from OKCupid never texted you back, but you did bolt out of there pretty fast, and ate almost half of his Costco bag of Starburst. Total femme fatale move, Moon. But hey, you don’t want to be the femme fatale, really. You’re the type of girl that overbleaches her hair and produces a horrific shower of scalp flakes for weeks, that gets excited about dinners packed in old tupperware, that is capable of consuming half her weight in Starburst without even being conscious of it, that chooses the parking lot of a beloved beverage joint as a safe haven in a moment of great darkness. And there’s something kind of beautiful about all of that, right? You realize that you're going to be just fine, but decide to make a New Year's resolution anyways:
This year, there will be no more crying in parking lots.