I no longer need to know how to get to your house. And thank god because it was in the middle of nowhere and I’d always get lost. I spent a year of my life with you in what felt like Siberia. I learned the layout of the home, had my favorite room and played in your backyard. Now it all means nothing, now it’s just a spec on a deserted landscape. Next exit, please.
I no longer need to know math. I always knew I would never need to know it but I was forced to in high school. The teachers were liars. They said that we would always need to know about isosceles triangles and Pi, but we didn’t! Never once have I been like, “Thank god I know about Pi! It’s going to get me out of this pickle I’m currently in!” No. Screw Pi. Screw math. Screw useless information.
I no longer need to know how to unlock the deadbolt for the apartment in Barcelona. I never could quite figure how to do it and my neighbor would always start yelling at me in Spanish through her door for making so much noise. As someone with only a rudimentary grasp on the language, all I could make out was, “LA PUERTA! LA PUERTA!”
I no longer need to know if I can survive our break up and lead a normal life again. I no longer need to know if a day can go by without something triggering a memory of the two of us. I can! A day does go by without thinking of you! It’s a pathetic milestone for sure but you can’t laugh at progress. It’s funny how, after every relationship ends, you suffer from amnesia and wonder, “How will I get through this? How will I get over it?” But you always get over it. You have to. You get over it just like you got over the last breakup. After a certain amount of time passes, there’s only so much you can still mourn. The memories that once crackled and popped, and gave you something to hold on to are now faded and microscopic. You would miss them if you knew what there was to miss. Your body has willed them out of you.
I no longer need to know if it’s weird to eat an entire jar of Nutella while watching Friday Night Lights. I no longer need to know how many drinks I can have before I start Exorcist vomiting (six mixed drinks, a bottle and a half of wine.) I no longer need to know if we’ll remain friends after college (maybe let’s get a coffee?) or if I’ll find a job and make my parents proud of me. I no longer need to know if it’s a good idea to have a hot therapist (I prefer to stick with overweight 60-year-old lesbians. It keeps me honest.) I no longer need to know you because you’re not someone worth knowing.
Do some spring cleaning with your brain and get rid of the knowledge you’ll never need again. You may not be aware of it but it’s actually weighing you down, and once you get it out you’ll feel ten pounds lighter. Promise. I may not know much but I do know that.