I'm getting chillingly efficient at this breakup thing.



It helps that it was only three months, and that I expected it to come crumbling down at any second, and like Jezebel says, I poured some "concrete walls" around my heart.



But I just keep running from the sadness and it doesn't get me. It's become a drill. I pull my friends around me like a blanket, I stay up late, I write, I ride my bike. I pedal fast in the late September sun that just keeps coming even though I wish it would rain.



He accused me one day, of not being "totally emotionally open" to him, of being "hot and cold," and I thought, on the one hand, my GOD. Look who's talking!



On the other hand, I thought, well yeah. How else am I supposed to be with someone like him? Someone who keeps pulling me closer, than the closer I get the farther he pushes me away?



In the old days, I would have let myself get completely wrapped up, red flags be damned. I would have thought, because this feels right, it is right. Because we love each other, things will work out.



Ha.



I had my little fantasies, but I certainly wasn't about to give them any room to grow. And so, to quote one of my favorite books, I would say about this breakup:



"...We're too old to make each other miserable, and that's a good thing, not a bad thing...Those days are gone, and good f*cking riddance to them; unhappiness really meant something back then. Now it's just a drag, like a cold or having no money. If you really wanted to mess me up, you should have got to me earlier."

-Nick Hornby, "High Fidelity"