It took me years (and a very persisting Yoda) to stop being a prince charming on a white horse kinda girl. Like Fiona in the first half of Shrek. Which is not to say I'm fully out of the woods yet. I still dream of stuff.
But the big difference is that I don't crawl into bed for a month weeping until dark watching chick flicks and eating chocolate beyond what is humanly possible. And I'm not embellishing it. (Yes, I was a very, very sad person). Nor am I the person that hides in an underground bunker until all the lovebirds quiet it down and the media moves on to something else.
I can walk around. Yes, I quarantine a little. Which is to say a bit more than what I already do throughout the rest of the year. No chick flicks, no romantic music or musicals. No sappy novels. And loads of comedy. Bill Bryson. Spamalot. Avenue Q. The Big Bang Theory. The producers.
And I work more. And dance more. I don't spend too much time on my own. It's common knowledge I can't be trusted, so I keep people around me. I go out for coffee (*hint, hint*), I go to the movies, I talk on the phone.
It's a matter of balance, of being smart. If I'm more vulnerable, then I'll just surround myself with things what will keep a smile on my face. I might not be as strong as I wanted to, but I can take care of myself. And there's a sense of pride about it that kinda makes it a little better.
*that's what I'd like to be...
Maybe this time, Cabaret
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