Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy you a planet fitness black card membership, which comes with massage chair privileges. That’s a very close second.
No, actually it’s a tie. Because the chair doesn’t require reciprocity, so it gets bonus points.
I also tempted fate and used the hydromassage bed. God save the Queen. I walked out of there feeling lighter than ever.
Money also can buy you books you can’t find in the library.
I was drawn to the this one during a Wednesday night stroll through Barnes & Noble. I’m ready for my next love, although I realize it may be years before I meet him. I’ve already been fortunate to have one before John. I hope the book is right and this third love will be my last. More on that later.
I’m not as sad as I thought I’d be about losing John. It’s been almost a month since we broke up and I’m okay. I have moments of anger and hurt from being misunderstood, but I don’t really miss him. I miss who I was with the “him” who showed up, which it turns out who he really was. I’m forever grateful to him for participating in our post-breakup debrief because I might have held him on a pedestal, otherwise. Hearing him speak so negatively about me was like a light switch. My brain quarantined the cute pictures and fun memories and extracted any feelings of love like a Dyson vacuum. The love is still there, but it’s for a man he’s not ready to be.
But why am I better than okay? I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but I love a good process inquiry. I thought about it and have come to this conclusion: I’ve been abandoned so many times that I think I’m used to it by now. Yet – and this is key – I chose to love John wholeheartedly from the beginning, despite knowing that it would inevitably end. (I wrote a poem about this a few months ago. I’ll have to find it…) I didn’t waste energy holding anything back. I treated that space with him with the utmost respect and affection. I lived IN every moment and didn’t waste a single one. I have no regrets about anything. Maybe that means no missing him, either?
AND, I acknowledge that this could all be a gloriously epic, manic coping mechanism to deal with my pain, but six of one, right?