It's Not Okay: Turning Heartbreak into Happily Never After by Andi Dorfman Read Free Book Online Page B

into my pounding head, thanks to my new best friend Mr. Cabernet (which I desperately needed after yesterday’s official breakup announcement), and yet I’m already bawling. I just can’t seem to control it, not with a box of tissues or with every ounce of my depleting determination. They just keep fucking flowing! How does my body even have this much water in it? It seems both scientifically and physically inconceivable to shed this many tears. I mean, I learned in fifth grade that humans are 80 percent water (though at the moment about 5 percent of that is currently red wine), but still, this seems impossible, not to mention completely unfair.
    Through my puffy wet eyes, I glance over at my nightstand to reach for the same thing I reach for first every morning . . . my phone. It’s sitting amid an embarrassing amount of used tissues next to a blinking digital clock. Shit! It’s 11:47. How did I sleep this late? Next to my phone, I discover a wine bottle. I pick it up and immediately notice it’s rather light. As I peer into the bottle, I can see straight down to the bottom, solidifying that I finished it all by my lonesome self last night . . . Double shit. That would explain why the room is spinning.
    Where am I in life right now? Am I already the girl who polishes off a bottle of wine and awakens mere moments before noon with tears rolling down her face? Dear Lord, this really is going to be rough. I know it’s only been a few days since the end of my nine-month engagement, but I’m ready for this pain to go away already. It doesn’t help that my days consist of waking up no earlier than 11:00 a.m. (crying), and the first thing I do is reach for my phone and check social media. At which point, I cry some more as I scroll through everyone’s posts showing off their “awesome” lives, followed by afternoons filled with pouting around in unwashed pajamas, making some lunch, which will include bread to soak up the wine I drank the previous evening, and watching several episodes of Judge Judy On Demand until 5:00 in the afternoon when I will undoubtedly pour a heavy glass of wine.
    Some schedule, huh? Thank the good Lord above that I am currently “funemployed,” because I don’t think I could handle having to go to work and actually come face-to-face with human beings. I have to admire those girls who show up to work days after a breakup and manage not only to be productive but also stay dry-eyed the entire day. They deserve a damn diamond-encrusted medal and a sexy young pool boy as a reward.
    Since I have nothing on the agenda today, I decide to wash my leggings and V-neck and change into some fresh clothes, but then I remember I have no fresh clothes. They are back at Number Twenty-Six’s place, aka our old home we shared, and there is no way in hell I’m going over there to get them looking like this. Instead, I rummage through Kelly’s laundry room, find some Febreze, and douse myself in it. I’m embarrassed that I just admitted that.
    Thank God for Kelly. She was the first person I called after we broke up. At that moment, I knew I should leave our home immediately, but given that it was close to midnight, I told Kelly I would just sleep on the couch and head to her place in the morning.
    “Umm, are you fucking kidding me? You’re not staying there. Come over immediately,” Kelly instructed.
    “It’s fine, it’s almost midnight, and I don’t want to put you out.”
    “Stop. There is no way in hell I am letting you stay there!”
    “Are you sure?”
    “It’s not even an option. Do you need me to come pick you up?”
    “Okay, thanks! I can drive. Be over soon.”
    It took me only ten minutes to arrive at her house, but that was long enough for her to open a bottle of wine and have a glass waiting for me when I walked in the door.
    Kelly had recently moved into a mansion with her fiancé just down the road and had room to spare for a pathetic and now homeless single friend like myself.