I can no longer say I’m great fun at parties.

It’s been a rough few days. Oh, but who are we kidding? It’s been a rough however long.

Friday, I realized that Mr. Wonderful doesn’t love me – if he ever did – and that we aren’t getting back together anytime in the near future. I guess I really don’t have to worry about his Christmas gift (which for once I actually knew what to get – I’ve known since July. Goddammit.).

Yes, I’m 33 years old. Yes, I was still viewing part of this breakup like a 13-year-old girl. And yes, it still hurts just as bad now as it did when I had braces and worried about getting my locker open. In fact, it hurts way worse.

I won’t even go into the fact that I have actually caught myself considering, “Hey – maybe I should make him a mix tape.”

But now I know where I am and can move forward from there.

And moving forward seems to mean moving off my couch. Alice and Jake invited me to tag along to a Halloween party Friday night. Planning my tattoo artist costume provided hours of Something to Do, and I was excited to meet new people. But after spending an hour and a half crying Friday afternoon, my brain was in a slightly, uh, off-kilter, non-party place.

My eyes were too swollen for the fake eyelashes.

But I went with it. I cried a little at Alice and Jake’s, and then I got my shit together, we put on our costumes, and we went to the party. I didn’t know anyone except Alice and Jake.

Everyone was nice. Alice and Jake didn’t abandon me. But I was completely overwhelmed. I looked at all the strangers around me and thought that where I really wanted to be was trick-or-treating with Mr. Wonderful and the Ladybug. Of any of the men at the party, of all the men in the world, I was only interested in Mr. Wonderful.

I held up the wall. I realized I could ask Jake to take me home and he could come back to the party.

This realization put me on the verge of tears.

I held it together for a few more minutes. Then I said, “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

Bless his heart, he moved quickly. Five minutes later, all three of us were in the car. I sobbed like a freak. I was afraid I’d ruined their evening, even though they said they were glad to have a reason to leave after only 45 minutes. I was so relieved to be out of that house and free to be just as sad as I truly was.

They spoke reassuring words and offered to let me stay in their guest room. If you look up “friends” in the dictionary, you will see their photos.

I didn’t stay at their house, but just the offer made me feel safe and secure. I went home. Alice picked me up at 8 a.m. for a yoga class that she didn’t mention was an advanced class. It was great, but I have hardly been able to move since. And I have a new mantra, courtesy of a van we saw merging onto the highway as we drove to class.

It was an old brown minivan with plastic in lieu of windows at the driver’s door, the side window on the driver’s side and, inexplicably, also for the back window on the passenger side. The worst part, though, was that the woman driving the van had to lift up the plastic at the corner of the driver’s side “window” so that she could see her mirror to merge.

Alice, empathetic always, said, “At least you’re not driving that van.”

Indeed. I have faith.

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