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Breakups and being single in law school

I heard the law school breakup rate is like 80%. I believe it. Obviously individual circumstances make it higher or lower.

It think the worst is for first-year students who have been dating someone prior to law school and the other person has no idea what law school is like. Like my friend who dated an artist for about a year before we started our first year. He didn’t even know anyone who was a lawyer. He had no idea why she was so busy and couldn’t go out anymore. They broke up by the end of first semester. That’s usually how it goes.

Fall is not the season to be single.

Fall was supposed to be our time, not summer.

serial monogamist:

A descriptor for a person who has commitment issues but does not engage in cheating or infidelity. A serial monogamist likes the emotional and physical intimacy of relationships and therefore seeks partners who want a longterm romantic relationship. A serial monogamist may or may not warn their partner about their fear of commitment. (Often the partners foolishly believe they will be able to change this about the serial monogamist.)

The relationship may be short-lived or it may last a few months to years, however the serial monogamist is always holding back and if the other partner in the romance pushes at all, the serial monogamist will end the relationship swiftly and often without emotion.
Serial monogamist: I broke up with my boyfriend.
Friend: What???? You guys have been together for three years!
Serial monogamist: I know… I really liked him.
Friend: What happened?
Serial monogamist: He asked me to marry him.
Friend: You’re such a serial monogamist!

For reasons I think are self-evident, I like being single and I like being in stable long-term relationships. 

Pretty much everything else is like walking into a movie theater, not knowing if you’re about to watch a romantic comedy, a romance, a dark comedy, a drama, a foreign film without subtitles, the typical existential French film (never predictable), an action-flick, a porn, just the end credits, a short-film, a kids movie, a teen movie, a physiological thriller, or a horror film. 

All I wanted for Christmas was sex... I got this ridiculous Facebook chat solicitation instead:

  • M: well im just going to lay it out there. If you are looking for a FWB kinda thing... I think you are pretty cute.
  • me: is it weird that i hung out with two of your friends and T your supervisor is my ex bf?
  • M: Oh shit T is your ex?
  • me: Yeah
  • M: well are you down to hang out as friends?
  • me: Ya sure
  • M: with benefits lol... awkward i know
  • me: haha idk i dont really do that
  • M: well that's where I'm at... just saying. i'm kinda a freak... kinda. just the truth lol maybe that's not you at all and it's understandable
  • me: haha idk
  • M: can i throw something out there that's a little strange?
  • me: what
  • M: how do you feel about being submissive sexually?
  • me: uh what?
  • M: that's honestly what im looking for. sort of a fantasy of mine
  • me: oh
  • (few minutes pass...)
  • M: did i lose you lol?
  • me: well... idk what you mean exactly, but i wouldn't say that's really something i've ever thought about or wanted... i guess the most submissive thing i'm into is missionary
  • M: ok, well I was just throwing it out there... it would involve basically like a master slave roleplay. Only if you were comfortable with it of course. Sorry I'm drunk. a lot to throw out there... no pain or anything abusive of course
  • me: oh.. haha wow
  • M: yep... so i take that as a no...

What the FUCK is my life?

First there was J… who told me to lose 10 pounds… then went crazy (like committed overnight)

Then his friend K… who insisted on taking me out… then told me beer wasn’t ladylike…

Now their friend M is currently talking to me on Facebook chat… I’ve never had a real conversation with him before… but he’s telling me “we should hang out sometime”… Oh did I mention my ex T is M’s supervisor at work?

All I want for Christmas is sex.


I also want money, because I’m poor.

But I’d rather have sex. Alllllll day long. Rough sex. Slow sex. Oral sex. Quickie sex. Forever long sex. Oral sex. Shower sex. Oral sex. Outside sex. Car sex. Oral sex. 

It’s not going to happen. 

I am a prude. And I am back home.

The end.

Forgot my birth control in Denver… because I need another reminder of how unnecessary contraception is to my life right now.

Going Home

I’ve gone home once since I moved here in February… for a wedding in July. 

The visit was really depressing.

When I packed up my car and moved across the country to Denver, I had a boyfriend waiting for me at the end. I was in love. I was going on an adventure I’d dreamed about since I was a kid.

When I went back home last time, I was recovering from probably the shittiest breakup story ever told. I had a new boyfriend that I was afraid to call ‘my boyfriend.’ I was watching two people very happily in love celebrate their commitment. I was re-telling the breakup story to every concerned/confused friend that brought it up. I was back in the places haunted with our memories: there was our first date, our second date, our favorite restaurant, the place we used to play catch, where we had picnics, his first house, my old bed, were we got back together, our first kiss, the bagel shop where we’d get breakfast before parting ways for work, my old work—where he’d surprise me with visits and also where I broke down in front of customers the first time we broke up, where we met… Almost all the pieces of our story are scattered across that city. I can’t hide from the reminders of what used to be. They’re all over the place. I don’t live there anymore and there’s nothing to replace the old ghosts.

Now I’m going back again, this time totally single… reminding me of how I failed not one, but two relationships in one year. I heard he’s coming back too, and he’s bringing his live-in girlfriend. A nice reminder that I never met his mom until his dad died. There’s always a chance I’ll see them. So this time I’ll still be haunted by old memories, but I’ll also be reminded that I might just run into him and her, and I conveniently gained weight during the school year and she’s a yoga instructor.

The only consolation is that she’s not very pretty and he’s gotten chubby… (sorry, it’s actually true) but it still sucks and I wish I could just stay in Denver. I’m happy here. Going home is a sad reminder of everything that made 2011 the worst year of my life.

Reblog if you’re ending the year single.


Two boyfriends and twelve first dates later… 

Reblogging Myself

Preface: Two years ago today, December 13, 2009, B and I had our first date. 

I wish I forgot. It’s a terrible thing to remember when you’re ready for bed. I hardly slept last night.  

It’s scary how much one person can affect you. how one person—a person you loved and trusted the most—can be capable of hurting you more than anyone else in the world. hurt you more than what you thought was humanly possible.

Below is something I wrote a little while ago… I’m usually fine, but every so often I’ll remember what happened and it’s like I’m re-living the Hell all over again (kind of last night… but I was a total emotional wreck when I wrote what’s below, so only read it if you want to know someone’s thoughts as they pretty much have a metal breakdown). All three relationships I’ve had have ended traumatically… and no, I’m not being dramatic. I honestly don’t know anyone who’s gone though as much as I have—at least at my age. It starts getting to you.    

It’s sad. Don’t read it.


Dear B, 

It’s 2 hours past my bedtime.

It’s almost 2 years since we met.

It’s 1 year since your dad died. 

It’s 10 months since you moved here.

It’s 9 months since I moved here.

It’s almost 8 months since you returned from leading that high school spring break trip. You had no way of communicating with me or anyone for three weeks. 
Before your arrival, I spent the day cleaning my apartment and grocery shopping for your favorite foods.
I picked you up from the airport and drove you home. You had to get up early for work and you said I couldn’t stay. You were short with me and I wrote it off as jet lag. 
The next day you spent the night. 
You woke up early the following morning, showered, ate my cereal, got ready for work. 
I asked you if you wanted to come over for dinner. 
You said “I can’t do this anymore,” grabbed your things, and walked out my door. 

It’s 7 1/2 months since I was finally able to do more than stare at my walls and sleep for 12+ hours a day. since I started going on dates and giving guys my number. since I fainted at work. since almost all my daily calories were from liquor, if I had any calories at all. since my clothes started getting too big for my body. 

It’s 5 months since I was fighting tears at work and wanting to die. That night, my friends dragged me out to the bar with them. That’s when I met T. Our first date was the next day. I started feeling happy again.

It’s almost 4 months since I forgot you enough to have sex with T for the first time. 

It’s 3 1/2 months since I found out you met her the week after you left me. You worked with her all summer, just like #3, the girl whom you left #2 for. 
You took her to the places we went together. 
She uprooted her life in Vermont so you two could live together. even though you said it was “too much pressure” when I moved here (even though we lived 30 minutes apart. even though I was going to school here in August. even though we had been dating for more than a year). 
I went over to T’s. He knew I was upset but I didn’t know how to explain why. He probably understood better than I did. He made me feel better. He tried his best.

It’s 3 months since T left. He wanted a break. He found a girl who was emotionally available.  
I realized I was too scared and hurt to let myself open up to him. I shut myself down after you left. I didn’t try. 
T never really got to know me. just fragments. 
He wanted the parts of me you didn’t like, the parts of me I closed off. 

It’s been a few months since I cried because of you, before tonight. 

It’s a few times a week that I have dreams and nightmares about you.

It’s every day I am reminded of you.

It’s every day I want to forget you exist.

It’s tonight, at 1 am that I experienced a rush of thoughts, memories, and emotions about you. It’s 2:20 right now. I shouldn’t be awake. I shouldn’t be crying. 
My heart and I were disposable to you. Just like every girl before me. Just like your brother warned me. I loved you. I don’t know if I will ever let myself love again. I would rather die than ever again endure pain like what you inflicted. 
I wish you knew what you’ve done to me. I wish you understood. I wish you felt remorse. I wish you would tell me you’re sorry.

8 months later. I’m awake, now fully aware that I am a shell of who I used to be. 
You’re in bed with #5. 


Somebody find my roommate a girlfriend. Pref one who has her own place near his work or his favorite bars so that he stays there a lot. (i.e. LoDo, Cherry Creek, Highlands) Or a nicer place than his room.

Or I guess you could find me a boyfriend. Pref one within biking/light rail distance or with a good parking situation. 

Thanks :)

forever alone

All I want to do tonight is cuddle on the couch and watch documentaries. 

letgofallfast-deactivated201303 said: Your answer to that ask was just about the saddest thing I've read :/

omg seriously i was choking up writing it.