Today was a very hectic day at Corporate Behemoth. I ran from meeting to meeting to meeting, but I was only there physically. Emotionally? Mentally? I was thinking about how my swollen eyelids resembled pink, translucent jellyfish. I put mascara on this morning, but it was sort of a joke. I didn’t even think of wearing my contacts.
I’m allowing myself a little wallow today. I dined on peanut butter toast and am starting to watch all of the episodes of Grey’s Anatomy that I have stored up on my DVR. It’s almost a year. I’m a little behind.
The episode I just watched is from last season. A woman with a brain tumor has been going on and on about her boyfriend … a boyfriend whom no one has met. No photos exist of him. Finally, the good Dr. Shepherd gets her to realize that the boyfriend is a product of her brain tumor.
It’s all very melodramatic and is the stuff you either love or hate about Grey’s. The tearful woman looks at Shepherd and says, “He was never there?”
And that, my friends, is the way I feel about Mr. Wonderful.
He was never there. The man I fell in love with never actually existed. Because surely the man I fell in love with would never have berated me for buying yogurt that had an illegible expiration date on it. The man I fell in love with wouldn’t have kicked a clinically depressed Cha Cha out of his house, saying he couldn’t have me acting despondent in front of his daughter.
I’m starting to feel sort of … completely and totally pissed off.
Alice left me a voice mail today. She is pretty much the most no-nonsense person on the planet. She basically said that this whole dating Lisa thing means he cheated on me and that he’s a total dick and deserves to die and it’s just yet another reason why we, collectively, are so glad that I am rid of him.
My therapist said that more often than not, the cheater gets cheated on. Like a karmic circle of life.
And BFF’s husband, whom I talked to at 11:30 last night? When I was sobbing and realized that one thing that sucks about being a grown up is that you don’t have people you can call at 11:30 p.m. because everyone you know is asleep? And I realized that I could call BFF, who lives in fucking Africa, except that that bitch had already left for work?
Her husband listened patiently to my tears and my tale of woe. “My ex is an asshole!” I wailed.
BFF’s hubby didn’t miss a beat. “Which one?”
And that made me laugh. So, puffy eyes and homicidal plans aside, I’m going to be just fine.