The Messiest Break-Up

“I’m sorry, but it’s over,” I said.


“It’s just that, well, I want different things. I feel like I’m starting a new phase of my life and it’s clear that you don’t belong there. In fact, you sort of get in the way.”


“I’m sorry. That was a bit mean. We did have some good times, right? Fun times. Really. I mean, we did spend more than a decade together. And we did a lot of fun crazy stuff during that time. I’ll never forget any of it.”

And still the silence.

“I never thought it would turn out like this. I did feel, for a long time, that we would be together for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, but I see now that that isn’t how things are going to be.”

Then finally a reaction. A grumble. It was hungry. That’s usually how it was. And I had often followed my beer belly’s every whim since I had grown it. But really, this was the end of it. Else it would be the end of me.

And so begins the difficult process of removing this substantial part of myself that I have grown and cared for. The leg raises are the worst. And this thing is so resilient. It stays silent and its presence is its defiance.

Yes, yes, this is an overly-dramatic rendering of the attempts to lose weight. But, eh, you got to make light of this seemingly Sisyphean task.


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