Is it strange that it took reading a lot of Harry Potter themed erotica to realize that I have no reason to mourn over the ending of my last relationship?
Grinding against the floor, fantasizing about Sirius and Hermione (I am baring all here), and eating apples with peanut butter (the choice aphrodisiacs of runners and 5-year-olds everywhere) made me just realize "oh shit, you are a prize. Don't cry over someone who didn't treat you like one and who you truthfully were settling for the whole time."
That sounds mean but the entire relationship was just the two of us being so desperate to have some romantic committed relationship that, as long as the other was decently attractive and lived within driving distance, we didn't really care who it was with. I was feeling desperate after losing what I still hope was not the love of my life, and he was feeling desperate because he was getting older and had never had a serious relationship before. I do not think there are two more different people than me and him. Sometimes it was charming, like Oscar and Felix, but most of the time it was just unpleasant.
I won't air my dirty laundry here. I will just say: this breakup has been extremely hard. I feel like there were too many things left unsaid for us to be finally "over", but I know that if I want to make myself truly happy, I cannot keep defaulting to him.



I had my first adult "let's rent a summer cottage on the beach and drink white wine while talking about invasive plants and politics" party weekend in Kaikoura. Despite me still being jet-lagged and me falling asleep as soon as conversations would drift outside of my areas of expertise (e.g. garbanzo beans, uses for baking soda, Nepali jewelry), it was pretty fantastic.