Yes that might be what they call clickbait for a title – something that entices you to click on it, sometimes deceptively.
It wasn’t as bad as “How To Forget Paris“, that was the title of this piece, but it was still an enjoyable read, although different.
So let me detail with my Macbook in bed why I enjoyed that post so much. Disappointingly, it was not about Paris. It was about a breakup.
Here’s the first nice bit:
I was trying to forget the bookshelf I’d told him I’d build for our living room, and how he said his mom would love me when we went to visit. Unlearning those things you spent so much time memorizing, turns out, is crippling: the favorite songs, how he takes his coffee, which way is most comfortable to sleep. They warned me about sex in church when I was growing up, told me not to have it until I was married, that it was special, intimate. They never warned me about dreams, though, never told me they weave you together the same way. I was trying, especially, to forget Paris, this bastard of an image we’d painted together that buried itself deep in the folds of my brain and proved difficult to undo.
“Just let it be sad,” she concluded. “Ironically, sadness will be your guide out of sadness.”
Ironically, no why did I write ironically, it probably wasn’t ironic. Interestingly, I didn’t feel untowardly sad or mourn-ish about my grandfather’s death. I suppose he had been so far removed from my life in recent years. Isn’t that kinda sad. They say that you have a family for the kids, and stuff. But you reach an age where you are removed from your family. No person can have so much time for everyone, for their parents, for their parents’ parents, for all their relatives, for their own family. There comes a time, when even your partner is gone.
Sometimes I just want to drink.