Personally, I think a crushed ego is much harder to repair than a crushed heart. One thousand times easier. A broken heart causes me to write pretty things, and listen to sad songs, and call all my friends, and cry in the shower. It's a perfect excuse to eat cookie dough for breakfast. And, since it's based on something very true and charitable (love), it's so much easier to move-on. At least, you're getting over something constructive.
A crushed ego is just embarrassing. You have to get over yourself. (Not as pretty as getting over someone else). Shoot.
This weekend, I drowned my humiliation in campfire smoke and double stuffed oreos. Except, I ended up regretting the oreos because it meant I could only stand one s'more. Anyways, there's something about aspens, old barns, small white houses, log cabins, and sleeping bags.... I poked a burning log until it was just ash, I let the heat burn my face off, and then my friend and I drove up as high as we could, to look at the stars.
We were trying to find Camelopardalis (which the book said was a giraffe), and Cetus (the whale).
The milky way was overwhelming.
There were too many stars.
We could find the big dipper, the north star, cassiopeia, and the little dipper, but the rest of the sky was just a maze. We were lost (which was okay because we saw two meteorites)(and instead of wishing, we yelled out loud).
In the morning, we drove to a small-town hardware store. When we walked inside, the radio was playing Jackson. There's nothing like June's voice sayin' we got married in a fever hotter than a pepper sprout... (Later, after the store owner helped us in the lightbulb section, we could hear him singing (very loud): I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die).
...things seem so much better.