The Burrito

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Unless they’re this tough lady, when sometimes the tough decide to spend some time doing their best impression of a burrito.

Wrapped up in a blanket mainlining herbal tea and the final season of How I Met Your Mother, with a friend sitting nearby telling me I didn’t have to worry about getting snot on her sofa if I wanted to cry some more.

Thing is though, I didn’t want to cry. Not while I was being a burrito (or as my hilariously punny friends put it, a Bethrito). I didn’t want to analyze where it all went wrong, or throw things, or make voodoo dolls. Not yet. I just wanted to go to some headspace where it wasn’t real and I didn’t have to worry about it.

With the glorification of busy running rampant through my conditioning (along with that of most of the rest of the world I live in) it can be hard to take a break. It can be hard to allow oneself the freedom and luxury of taking a break. Speaking as someone who’s hoped for food poisoning just so I had a reasonable excuse for a sick day, I’m Exhibit A for this kind of habit.

And if food poisoning is a good reason to take a break, getting dumped is a good reason to make like a burrito.

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