POP, POP, POP, POP!!!

            Fucking bubble wrap!

            It would be less irritating if that weren't the third time that had happened in the last half hour. You'd think that at some point, I would have wised up enough to have removed it from the high traffic area of my floor, but no. Instead, every time I walk through my living room carrying a freshly packed and sealed box to the door, I am treated to the sound of mimicked machine gun fire coming from beneath my feet. Being that it is in fact the third occurrence, it is insanely frustrating that this explosion causes me to shriek like a little girl, jump three feet in the air, and drop the box in my hands. The box that is unfortunately labeled "FRAGILE". The disheartening sound of shattering glass that rings out as the cardboard hits the floor makes me wince.

             "Goddammit!" I yell out to no one. In a fit of possible overreaction, I start kicking the bubble wrap out from under my feet, in the process also kicking all the crap that is lying in less than organized piles awaiting their time to be packed away. Watching these things fly around feeds my fury, and I am suddenly aware that I am screaming obscenities at my belongings, and that there are tears stinging my eyes. I am enveloped by a deluge of emotions, ones that I even now refuse to acknowledge.

            I start grabbing things off the dining room table and heaving them across the apartment, first a remote control that bounces off the back of the couch, then a telephone book that announces its contact with the wall by means of an enormous thud. Not yet satisfied, I reach out one last time, grabbing on and launching a coffee mug, complete with coffee, now cold after my neglecting to drink it, as hard as my tiring arm will allow. It sails across my home, coffee pouring out in a beautiful spiral, splashing a considerable amount of the items around me, before exploding into a thousand ceramic shards upon impact with my front door.

            I stare at the liquid dripping down the door, vibrantly contrasted over the white paint, thinking what a bitch that is going to be to clean up. Then, my tantrum complete, I wipe the tears from my eyes with my sleeve, grab an empty box and head into the bathroom to continue my packing.

            I am determined to not look at the pink toothbrush sitting inside the little cup, nestled between the blue and orange ones. A perfect representation of my life at the moment. A little pink visual aide indicating our separation. How ballsy is she to not even be able to wait until I am moved out to leave her toothbrush here, in the cup next to mine no less?  Our brushes had sat in that cup for the last two years together, and now, this cavity fighting traitor has invaded our sanctuary. Well, I refuse to let my poor little orange friend share its home with those two any longer, that's for sure.

            I reach over and yank out my toothbrush, and the top of my hand grazes the bristles of the pink menace. It's damp. They slept here last night together, I knew that of course, but having actual evidence of this is rather hurtful. Here they must have stood together, flushed with post coital rosiness, brushing their lecherous teeth and laughing at my foolishness.

            "God, could Mackenzie be any more PATHETIC?"

            "Well, I don't see how you managed to be with that moron for four years!"

            "It really was hell, you know."

            "I mean, Max must be pretty stupid to not have known sooner that her best friend was screwing her fiancé!"

            "You underestimate her loser-dom my dear. And she was bad in bed."

            I shake off the hideousness of their conversational possibilities, and rub my eyes again. God, this blows.

            I can't believe I have to move. He is the one that wanted to go off and shag someone else, shouldn't he have to leave?  On top of that, she has her own apartment!  Why don't they take their whoring there instead?  I don't want to leave. I love it here. Correction, I used to love it here. Now, it just hurts.

            Even cooler is my packing up my pitiful belongings all alone, as none of our friends wanted to be seen as "taking sides" as they put it. This is the problem with only having couple friends, once you are no longer a couple; one person generally gets custody of the other couples. Seeing as how he took a mutual friend and turned her into part of a brand new couple before I was even given the ax, well, I was the easily removable piece I suppose. Why lose two friends when you can just crush one and call it a day?

            I can feel my eyes welling up again, but I know that the movers are coming in an hour. No time for soul mutilating self reflection right now, there is stuff to be bubble wrapped.

            Fucking bubble wrap, anyway.

            Throwing the last of my half filled bottles of bathroom fodder, shampoo, conditioner and so on, in the box, I sulk my way out of the bathroom, stopping as my gaze is once again hijacked by that godforsaken pink toothbrush. How did this happen?  How did two of the most loved people in my life become the source of this cinderblock on my chest? 

            I will tell you how. I am a fucking idiot, that's how.

            Well, a fucking idiot that just scrubbed under the rim of the toilet with the pink toothbrush.

            Bring on the bubble wrap.