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Yeah, just putting that out there. Okay, now let's get to this month's scoop....

Basically a month off everything. I did it all, the sleeping in til noon, the sleeping in the middle of the day, the series marathons, the eating nutella out of the jar thing - it was good while it lasted but it needs to stop. Or, at least be reduced considerably. This might just be the last summer break I ever have (excuse me while I go panic about that for a few minutes) so there needs to be some more disciplined self-treating.

Retail Therapy. I didn't try it yet, but just today I got the urge to go out and buy myself somethin' pretty just for the hell of it. I'm still figuring out what exactly, though. Maybe inspiration will hit me once I hit the town. But I'm quite optimistic that I won't return empty-handed and I've always been a defender of the theory that materialistic things can indeed make you a little happier than before; at least no one's ever gotten worse after shopping.

Comfortable socialization. I managed to see a couple of my steadiest friends at least once a week (seeing as I'm not exactly the most organized planner when it comes to outings, that's a success) and now my loveliest friend is off to travel Europe for the next few weeks, which is such a cool thing to say (and will certainly be cool to do, as well). So I'll try and fill my calendar with lots of fun dates because, well, the best things to do can be done during summer, and I'll be gone in September so I need to stock up on time with people I actually really like.

Planning stuff. I find it easier to not end up on the aforementioned sanctuary couch when I write To Do Lists with obvious, no-brainer tasks, like "stretch" or "write more lists". Okay, written out, that sounds a bit concerning, but whatever. Even though I don't even usually do all that, at least I had a plan, and doesn't everyone love to tick off chores and congratulate themselves (again, sounds pretty bad, but again, whatever)? I also started to make random sheets with things to pack for Hamburg. So far, I've established that I need about 13 pairs of shoes in total. I mean, the season's changing while I'm there, and I need my shoe variety to dress properly, or I'll get cranky.

I hope you got your summer down, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith




 

I'm pretty sure I have declared myself to have hit rock bottom before but it turns out, there are lots and lots of bottoms left to crash through. How nice.

This time, it was me googling the "normal" time span people usually feel like shit for after a break-up and if that isn't enough of a downfall, I ended up on a psychology site that listed different stages of awful feelings, which just made me feel some more of them right away.

I just hit my head on my bedframe. That's what you get for sitting on it in the middle of the day.

Anyways, I find that these supposedly helpful tips either make you sad all over again because they formulate the sickness you feel, or they make you feel bad because they keep on telling you that you'll get over it and that all the things you wish you'd gather the courage up to do, like writing a letter or just calling him up, would not change anything. I'm sorry, but do they know anything about anyone's relationship, at all? When you're desperate enough to rely on the internet to feel better, it is totally not helping to be chastised by may-or-may-not-have-a-degree psychologists on top of it all. Stuff like "Stop this", "don't do that", "that's not relevant" is so not what we tormented souls need to hear. What I want is to be pet on the back and told that my point of view is the only valid thing in the world, being:

It's okay to hold on to your pyjama's like they're a security blanket.

It's okay to not be hungry, just as it is okay to try and fill the emptiness with Chinese food and chocolate. Just, like, don't starve.

It's okay to spend days at a time on the couch watching hours of sitcoms from beginning to end.

It's okay to complain about not doing anything with your life besides watching hours of sitcoms from beginning to end.

It's okay to feel unable to do anything to distract yourself even though you want to.

It's okay to enjoy things that distract you.

It's okay to switch from enjoying those things to being sad again.

It's okay to crave company.

It's okay to bring up that same topic to your company again and again even though there's nothing new to add and you end up being sad.

It's okay to cry. In the middle of the day, in the middle of the night, right after you wake up, when your noodles fall of your spoon, when something reminds you of them, when you wash your hair, when you're alone, when you're with a friend.

It's okay to miss them.

It's okay to make up dramatic metaphors about how your whole body feels raw and bruised and every move hurts.

It's okay to take breaks from thinking about it.

It's okay to feel like you're never gonna be okay again. I'm not even gonna tell you that you will be, eventually, because personally, hearing that makes me wanna throw up, and I think that's okay as well.

The list goes on.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....and I had it on in the store and I have been walking around in it and it feels amazing and comfortable and it looks smokin' good and I am hopelessly in love with that shoe. But now, the shoe starts talking and says "Take me off, you'll get blisters if you walk in me any longer, and I will get damaged" but I don't feel any pain and I don't see any blood, not even redness, and the shoe is so unbelievably pretty and exactly what I wanted. But it started talking so loudly and wiggling to get off my foot that I couldn't possibly get it to stay on, and now I'm crying in the store because I can't understand why I should leave these beautiful shoes that bring me so much joy. And people keep telling me that there are other shoes that are just as nice and waiting for me to give them the time of a day, but I don't want to see them, because my perfect match is right in front of me and it's still shiny and intact and I can't just leave them there.


Does this work for you or does it just make sense to metaphor-obsessed shoe fanatics like me?

Love,

Rosy Smith