When 45 minutes of cardio doesn't cure the anxiousness of receiving several calls from your ex's area code, Plan B normally would have included cheesy starchy coma inducing carbfest followed by picking up Blinky and burying my face into her side and screaming (trust me, she likes it) all the while listening to Aimee Mann.
The new Plan B has altered itself to fit a more healthy outlook on life.
Which includes stuffing my face full of veggies, singing Barry Manilow's "Mandy" but replacing the name Mandy with "Blinky" while carrying my cat around the apartment like a fat baby all the while slowly consuming a bottle of wine.
And later on, I'll be glad I started that gigantor batch of vegan mac n' cheese because I know I'll be hangry.
I've grown so much this year. I have my shit together. I'm doing so well. There should be no real reason for me to be this upset that he's trying to contact me. It's not like I'm a stranger to this type of behavior.
I guess I'm just dumbfounded why people want back in months after they've dumped me.
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