tissue boxes

As a kid, my mom would always have Kleenex stuffed underneath her sweater sleeve, wadded up in her pocket, and buried at the bottom of her purse. It drove me crazy and they were never nice, soft tissues --rather dried out, scratchy, snot-crusted and lipstick-blotted single-p ly wads of tissue. As a grown adult, I made it a mission of mine to never purchased single ply toilet paper or tissue paper. I was going to live the life, with some goddamn Charmin or Cottonelle and some fucking Puffs Plus Lotion.

So the week after the breakup, I went out and bought multiple boxes of puffs plus lotion. I littered boxes and crumples around the apartment. In the first week at least one box was empty. It's been two months and three more boxes now, and I was finally able to remove the one out of my bedroom. The daily tears had stopped .

But after recent ups and downs, reminiscing and flirting, and don't forget the fucking holidays, I found myself sobbing bedside tonight, once again grabbing onto sheets on "his" side of the bed. And so the tissues have returned.

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this post. But I know that 2015 will bring lots of changes for me. Hopefully cheerful ones--a cross-country move, a new job (with higher income), being more physically active and toned, eating healthier, drinking less, and saving more.

If I save my goal funds for next year, I may celebrate with anything over that by treating myself to a vacation some where nice next year. Somewhere with the northern lights that glow so beautifully in winter.

Lord knows they have to have tissues at resorts overseas.