Like Ripping Off A Band Aid.....

I have to end a 10-year relationship. Break it off, clean and easy. Rip off the band-aid, the yelping pain be damned.

I’ve wrestled with this decision for months. Agonized over it, lost sleep over it, turned to my boyfriends Ben & Jerry over it (there is ALWAYS solace found in a heaping serving of New York Super Fudge Chunk, don’t ever let anyone tell you different).

I’ve weighed every pro against its con (we’ve always made a great team vs. I’ve grown beyond our once-crazy antics). Thought long and hard about the ramifications of living a life sans the support of this decade-long friendship.

After all, how do you call it quits after surviving first jobs, long binge drinking nights, and moving home from Austin together? After enduring broken hearts, broken promises, broken cars together? After getting tattoos, bad haircuts (and the occasional good one) and dream opportunities together? After celebrating life’s biggest milestones together—marriage and babies and buying homes?

Though it pains me to my very core to imagine waking up tomorrow knowing I’ve done this, I have to. I have to break up …

with my 20s.

Sniff. Sniff.

Yesterday was our very last day as BFFs (well, I guess that second “F” was always more of a generality than an actuality, but still …). Our last day to balk at being called ma’am. Our last day to know we’ll be carded, rather than pray to God that we will be (blessings to the bartender that cards the 30-year-old!).

Today is my first day with my 30s. Here's hoping it's a good one (inspite of the tears). ;)