OT: Logic and TV Cables

I like to think that I am a very logical, level-headed person. I pride myself with being able to look at a story or argument from every different angle and with being un-biased and open to changes of opinion (as long as you can successfully explain to me why yours is better, of course). I like to debate things. I like the mental challenge.

I have found that, along with being these things, above, I can also be cold. I think that may come as a shock or downright untruth to some people, but it is correct. The nasty side of being so logical is that you can "logic" yourself out of (or in to) a lot of situations. For example, I believe that I am taking this breakup (see: previous post) so well because I am able to logic away my feelings. I am aware that this is unhealthy. I will, most likely, continue to do it anyway.

It is easy to be put-together when I am busy. Especially when I am responsible for 100% of the things I used to only be responsible for 60% of (notice I say 60 and not 50). It's the times I am not busy that get me. The logic creeps away and the truth seeps into its place.

Yes, it is difficult being left behind. It is difficult doing everything myself. It is difficult being alone when I thought I would be buying a house and getting married (talk about a 180). It is especially difficult being sad when my other half ex-boyfriend is happily gallivanting about the town with zero responsibility while all I want to do is watch movies in my yoga pants with my dog. It is hard to tell myself I didn't do anything wrong (even though it's true and I shouldn't even have to logic myself out of that one). It is hard being alone.

But it is also okay.

Today it is especially okay because I hooked up my tv to my DVD player with those ridiculously expensive fancy blue, green and red cables (which I am told are called "'component cables"). I am aware this is easy and simple and that it didn't take much effort to drive 5 minutes down the road to Staples to purchase them. You see, it doesn't matter that it was easy. What matters is that I did it myself. I did something myself which I would have passed off before, you know, because electronics are on the boys' side of the responsibility chart (I am going to get so much feminist hate for this, but it's true).

I guess there's just one side of the responsibility chart now: mine. And I think I'm okay with that.

OT: Vacuums and Accomplishments

To make a very long story short (and to save you from the gory details): I have been dumped single for about a month now.

Today, I had my first, real, single-girl accomplishment. I, Lauryn, killed a bug. Not just any bug and not a little bug. A HUGE FREAKING ALIEN BUG WITH LOTS OF LEGS.

You see, I was sitting on my couch minding my own business when I looked to my right and saw the giant monster on the wall about five feet away from me. I gasped, hoped off the couch, and strategized my next move.

Do I swat at the bug? No! (What if it falls on the floor or lands on me or sprouts alien bug wings and flies somewhere in my proximity??)

Do I put a cup over the bug? No! (Then I would be standing there with my hand on the cup on the wall for the next four hours until I figure out how to get the cup and the bug off the wall. And again, see previous comment about "alien bug wings" and "proximity.")

Left with few options, I do what any girl would do in this situation -- I call my dad....who proceeds to laugh at me on the phone as I try to explain my side of the story and that this, again, is NOT your average critter. My dad recommends bug spray. Well, dad, I don't own any bug spray. On to Plan B (and, mental note, invest in some bug spray).

Dad is a genius and recommends that I vacuum the bug up. Yes! I can do this. I roll out my Dyson, snap on the handy suction attachment-thingy, and stand as far away from the wall as my arms allow while aiming the vacuum hose at the bug monster....

...The bug is too large for the vacuum (either that or my aiming is not so great), falls onto the floor  (yikes!) and proceeds to crawl under my couch (double yikes!).

I am now screeching, standing on my coffee table on my tip toes, and have managed to scare the bejesus out of my dog (who thinks that this is some sort of fun game).

What do I do, what do I do, what do I do...

I call my dad up and tell him he needs to come over and find the bug. He says he is not coming. I call my friend up who recommends that I let Henry (my dog) eat the bug and that will be that. I am not subjecting my poor dog to a monster alien with lots of legs that could potentially be poisonous.

I am out of options.

I decide that if I'm going to be alone forever living by myself, I should probably be able to kill a bug by myself. Therefore, I choke up the courage to move the couch (sound effects not included), spot the culprit, and vacuum him up.

End of the story? The bug is dead. But, two hours later, I have still not been able to sit on said couch.

I will work on that.