Tears in my cornflakes

I'm exaggerating. I can't afford cornflakes. But I have now cried every day and every night since I broke up with my boyfriend. The first time I was just walking down the street listening to the radio on my mobile phone. Some stupid sappy song that I usually wouldn't have listened to came on, and I turned it right up so at least I couldn't hear my pathetic bawling. Never mind that everyone else could.


I can be lying in bed, thinking about nothing in particular, and just start weeping. I leak like an old tap!
I was offered a free feed last night. A bowl of fried rice "but you'll have to pick the ham out." I accepted, but then cried again, because my boyfriend used to eat the meat I picked out of things. Now who will eat the bits I pick out of my food!?I cry because he's not home, then I cry because when he does come home, he's not mine anymore, then I cry because I don't care if he loves me or not and I'm fine, then I cry because I do care if he loves me, then I cry because I can't remember why I'm crying anymore. When all that crying is done, I usually cry a little because I'm hungry, because all that crying uses a lot of energy.
It's not just crying, though. It's all manner of emotional outbursts. I was in a toy shop two days ago. I went there to cheer myself up a little. The young and old and depressed 20-somethings can all find a few minutes of joy in a toy shop. While I was there, and I had not been there very long, I walked past a large "Thomas the Tank Engine" toy. "Hi! I'm Taaamis!" the train tried to tell me, in a very strong American accent.

"No you're fucking not!" I raged (inwardly, thank God!) "You're an American. Thomas is English, and his name is said 'Thomas' not 'Taaamis', and also, you suck, and also FUCK YOU!" I don't know how it all stayed in my head, but it did, and I ran out of the toy shop and hid behind some shoes in Kmart for half an hour until I got over the horrible shock of those elongated American vowels. Wisdom of the Pretty Kitty: Americans love vowels and want them to last forever. The British hate vowels and want them over and done with as quickly as possible.
While I was hiding behind the shoes, a nice lady, about 55 or 60 years old, came and asked me if I was alright, because (sweet fucking HELL!) I'd started crying again. In my most grown up voice I said, "Yes'm. It's just... I just... EVERYONE HATES ME!"

I actually had a good day today. I did cry (pretty constantly for most of the day) but there was no sobbing, so it was harder for people to tell. I had a little money spare today, so I bought myself a nice lunch. I went to three different places but I ended up getting a toasted salad sandwich;pancakes with raspberries, ice cream, cream, chocolate fudge and icing sugar; and coffee and two mini cream puffs for about $8 all together. And I got a new dress for $10, too. It may be retail therapy, but I figure therapy is therapy, and therapy is good.

Signed with Love,
the Pretty Kitty.