CHAPTER ONE
If love is the answer, could you please rephrase the question?
~ Lily Tomlin
Every love story ends the same way—in misery.
'They lived happily ever after' is just code for ‘they eventually realized they weren't compatible and got a divorce, they grew tired of each other but were too lazy to do anything about it, or, they truly loved each other for eighteen years until one of them died, leaving the other one gasping for air as endless swells of grief crashed over her for the next forty years.’
Fairy tales end with the aforementioned lie for two reasons: a) it's much quicker and more poetic, or, b) no one wants anyone to think it through, in case we all come to the conclusion that loving anyone is utterly pointless (which it most certainly is).
This would be a dangerous shift in the zeitgeist, because not only would it be the end of the human race, but without all those wedding registries being filled every year, it would also be the demise of Bed, Bath and Beyond.
Those are the cold, hard facts of love.
Here’s another fact: I’m ninety-nine percent certain I’ll never have a moment’s pleasure again.
Well, maybe ninety-eight percent. I was mildly pleased when Starbucks brought back the peppermint mochaccino a few weeks back.
But other than that, nothing interests me.
It’s been over a year now, and I’m still asking myself how long this terrible pain will remain lodged in my chest.
Forever? I’m pretty sure it will be forever.
But life moves on. That’s what everyone tells you.
Move on. Get out. See people. It’s the only way you’ll start to feel better.
The truth is, they only want you to move on to absolve them of the guilt they feel about being happy.
To them I say, go forth and enjoy your Saturday date nights.
Just leave me the hell out of it, because I’m done.