Exes are exes for a reason. You have to remember that, even when you miss them — like I did this past week.
You may remember the crappy ex in question — the one who broke up with me over IM, stole a painting he'd given me as a present and generally made me feel like total crap for several months. Our breakup was quick and sharp (over IM, after all), but the months leading up to it were painful and heartbreaking. He was miserable and so was I.
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I wallowed for weeks. I went to Barcelona. I came back and threw myself into a crazy work schedule, doing both my job at The Frisky and a nighttime writing gig that required I stay glued to my computer from Monday through Thursday nights. I was feeling some semblance of normal. And then, six months after our breakup, he walked into a coffee shop a few blocks from my house. He had, he cheerfully told me, moved just around the corner. We now lived four blocks from each other. I. Was. Livid. Did he not want me to move on? Did he not see how much of an imposition he'd made? New York has FIVE boroughs — must he live so uncomfortably close? Did he not see how much pain this was putting me through? It's not like he didn't know where I lived.
To read the rest of the story, hop over to The Frisky: Girl Talk: Exing Out The Ex
Written by Julie Gerstein for The Frisky.
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