It was 5:30 a.m. so I decided that I'd start working instead of attempting to fall back asleep. I just started a new job as the beverage director at a popular establishment in midtown Houston and I'm pretty eager to assert myself in this position, so away I typed on my laptop. I wrote 864 words before 6:30 a.m. and I was far from done, but it's nice to have something to focus on aside from my shitty broken heart. I know its getting old and you're tired of reading about it.
I've been going at this whole management position with unbridled fever, so I'm on the upside of anger for the most part.
A few nights ago I lapsed a bit; after a long hard day I came home and started fucking around on the internet, because every stupid fucking purchase I make happens under the influence of a whiskey or two on the rocks. Like, a month prior to my breakup I purchased a cake sampler from Momofuku Milk Bar in New York City, because it was my favorite comfort bakery in all of the city and I wanted Tim to have something special for Valentines Day. It arrived to my mothers house and sat in the freezer so that it would be good when I finally had the chance to give it to Tim. It sat and sat, time passing because our lives had become bogged down with work and extracurricular bullshit. Then Tim broke up with me and the world exploded. I ate the cake sampler. All of it. Every morsel consumed between hot tears and episodes of House M.D. I felt like a recovering addict, relapsing on a three day bender. All the lows were felt.
I stared at the website, every neuron firing simultaneously and dancing with the sweet burbon coursing through my blood, riding high on that whiskey horse. I stared a bit more, and then I decided that I'd do what I wanted to do initially and send it to Tim, because rational thinking is not a thing in my life. I input the payment information with care, proofreading the credit card number, the address, the date of delivery. Two more clicks and boom, off to the interwebular tangle of information my order was sent.
That cake sampler is not fucking cheap.
I woke in the morning a bit hazy. I leave for New York in two days and I'm what one would call "strapped for cash". I lay and reflect: what's the worse that can happen? He throws it away? He hates me for sending him cake? Like, please.
I forget what the note said verbatim but I remember including "please never date someone cooler than I am. Love from 1636 miles away"
Back to the present.
Tim went on a river trip- I only know this because I saw some photos he was tagged in by a mutual friend. I saw the photos and my first thought was "where are his glasses?" then "he's wearing shorts." and finally "he's smiling." I thought about it for a minute; in January we'd spent time at Hamilton pool and dreamed up plans for the summer, a summer where everything was good and we were happy. My heart began to ache. I watched a video where he was standing in the middle of a lake and plopped into the water in a pseudo baptism. I cried for a few minutes.
He'll probably never eat the cake.
Thank God for my job, it keeps me busy and I enjoy it thus far. I'll talk to you guys when I'm done healing up in NYC, and I'll have some fun shit to share with you.
Thanks for listening, stay cool.
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