Somebody Already Broke My Heart, But Thanks Anyway

I have an astonishingly good memory for dates, and today is a sort of significant day. Don't worry, I'm not going to dwell on any broken-heartedness because that part is long over- I just really liked that line. I want to tell a story that resulted from a break-up that occurred a year ago today; it's a good embarrassing story (I like that kind). It was the kind of break-up that you knew was coming, was really the best thing, that you were about to do yourself, and that only sucked in principal and not so much in practice.

So... I had decided to break-up with this particular guy, and then undecided, and then decided to base my decision off of one last date. The date was... okay. So the totally-average-and-unremarkable-style date makes me decide to not decide just yet, but to let things keep going. BUT, on the way back to his apartment I realize that I should have just done it and beat him to the punch when he says something like, "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about..." Which can't be going anywhere good.

And thus, we broke up. I was pretty proud of myself, I must admit, because prior to this I had had this very real conviction that I would die if someone broke up with me, and I could never break-up with someone else. False; I can totally take it. I said only one sort of unpleasant thing, and it was just true. And, my head didn't explode during the long string of clichés that he fell back on (althought that was a close call. There is nothing I hate more than stupid cliché statements). I didn't even come close to crying in front of him.

But... sometimes I get these very Romantic notions (Romantic as in the 19th century literature movement, like Wordsworth and co.), and so as I pulled out of his apartment complex, I decided that it would be most appropriate to cry at this point. Plus, being broken up with just isn't very good for your self-esteem. I had to work at the library that night, so I cried all the way there, and then sat in the parking lot and cried for another fifteen minutes. I stop, re-gather my dignity, wash my face in the HFAC, and head to work (Amy N., I bet you remember this night- I loved you extra for being so nice to me that night, just so you know).

Now, the library on a Friday night early in spring term when the weather is lovely = EMPTY. At this time, I was also taking an adolescent literature course, so I had a ton of reading to do. Amy started BP in the back, and I sat down to watch the front desk and finish Story of a Girl by Sara Zarr. It's a wonderful book, but it is so, so sad and emotionally provocative. And, the library was so ridiculously empty, and that Romantic sensibility came over me, and I let myself cry my way through the falling action of the novel.

And, this is a little weird, but not really, because there isn't a soul around but me. Until, out of nowhere, some guy comes up to the desk. And I am bawling, and cannot stop. And he is staring at me. I grabbed a tissue, and mumbled something about how I was reading such a sad book as I walk over to check out his books. And... he continues to stare at me, and it's all I can do not to yell at him to "Give me your freakin' book so this awkward moment can end!!" Instead I say, "I'm fine really; I'm sorry, it's just such a sad book." And... he is still just staring with this concerned look. Now, more people are coming over. I finally just reach over and take the book. Check him out, check the other people out in an atmosphere of pure awkwardness. And then solidly rebuke myself for being so silly.

Then I went to an awesome party and stayed out til three in the morning. Which was a far better way to deal with things than uncontrollable crying in public.