Shootin’ down the walls of heartache, bang bang! I am the warrior… 1.03.2007

I’m cross and contrary and was supposed to leave this all break-up business behind in 2006, but the truth of the matter is, it’s still here. It’s here like a stinging scrape on my ankle that rubs raw again every time I put on my shoes. It’s here like the drunk guy in the bar who’s too sloshed for any conversation save a lumbering slur, but is surprisingly nimble when it comes to appearing in my face every time I turn around. It’s here like salt and seaweed and tires and cheeto bags when the tides pull back and I think the beach will be perfect for a walk.

I’m angry at the break-up. I want to run to where the break-up slinks around the front porch, throw the door open and yell. I want to tear into the break-up with rage and lightening. I want the break-up to look at me, with those strange, strong winds whipping my hair high around my face, and my fists shaking in the air, and my eyes turning tears into fire and launching it forward…I want the break-up to take one look and say,

“Shit, that girl is CRAZY. I better leave her alone.”

I want the break-up to stop pressing that stone against my chest in the night. I need those lungs to BREATHE with, and I am going to start doing just that tomorrow if the break-up would just lay off. I want the break-up to give me some space; I’ve got a wide turning radius right now and that break-up is IN. MY. WAY. I need that break-up to stop sneaking up on me when I’m at work and poking at my sides. It doesn’t tickle and it isn’t funny and I’ve never once laughed at that kind of joke before, so why does the break-up keep doing it?

I need the break-up to stop following me around like a small skittish shadow that lifts up at the back of my skirt and flicks my ankles. I need the break-up to not hang out in my car all day and get warm and smelly. I need that break-up to stop stealing my laugh and dropping it in places where it didn’t mean to be.

I HATE THE BREAK-UP AND IT JUST WON’T LET ME BE!

On another note, here are 10 reasons why I am sexier than Jesus:

1. I have long, lovely, well-conditioned hair. Jesus had a rat’s nest. With thorns in it.

2. In moments of stress, I have a quick, sharp, wit. Jesus had “why have you forsaken me.”

3. I’m a woman. Women are sexier. That’s an objective fact.

4. I ride a bicycle. Bicycles are sexy. Jesus walked.

5. I enjoy the water. I splash and play and do suntan-lotion-commercial-looking things. Jesus walked on water. Bo-ring.

6. I wear Chanel No. 5. Jesus wore B.O. and camel dung.

7. I am alive. Jesus is dead. Twice dead, even. That should really count as two reasons.

8. I have freckles. Jesus had stress acne. (I know you can’t see it in the Rennaissance paintings, but it was totally there.)

9. I can pull off 3-inch heels or hipster sneakers or knee-high boots and look good no matter what. Jesus wore sandals and probably had totally gnarly toenails.

10. I know how to be pinned up against something and have a really remarkable and sexy time of it. Jesus, clearly, did not.

The end.

Tags: breakups, Jesus, Top Ten Lists