The fact of the matter was that he was marrying her. No matter how many spins I tried to put on it (aka the fact that she was supposed to be the rebound girl, the fact that he never seemed to have any qualms about telling me that he was going to marry me, the fact that we were in love for two years, hell,even the fact that he said he hated blondes ) the statement was there, stalwart in defiance of my emotions. I couldn't believe how ironic it was that I'd just watched When Harry Met Sally.
And then the worst part happened. He started popping up everywhere. I'd hear about how my friends saw him, I'd pass him on campus, I'd even see him at the local Wal-Mart as I ducked into the gardening aisle to try and avoid him noticing me. This was getting ridiculous.
Sure, I had a man. But he'd had to work on the night that I heard the news, and so I was forced to sob alone in my room while my cat curled up next to me, hoping that a good scratch under her chin would make me feel better.
And now it was Valentine's Day. Holidays like these always made me think about where I was on that day the year before. Last year, I'd been chasing around this intellectual who'd gotten me some Joan Baez records for the candy-coated holiday. We'd really only been sleeping together. I don't think there was any real emotion there. After we had gone to see The Shins some few weeks later, we sort of stopped talking. I'd heard from a mutual friend that he was in to other people, so I decided to end the charade. I had to face it, the sex wasn't really all that worth it.
So now here I was, one year later, sitting alone at my computer with a pipe in my teeth and loneliness promenading in my mind.
Yes, a pipe. I had recently taken up pipe smoking, and for those of you tsk-tsking and thinking what a nasty habit it is, you've never smelled the sweet aroma as it curls around your nose and your body like a hand-me-down scarf. Something about the polished brier wood and the smooth, aromatic smoke it emitted calmed and inspired me.
Then there was the loneliness. Nothing says "Happy Valentine's Day" like a phone call from your lover: "Sorry babe, I have to work." I shaved my legs and everything. Oh well, I sighed to myself. If I wasn't getting any tonight then at least I could go about more productive things.
Though I doubt that sitting by yourself in a small-town coffeehouse, which is where I found myself that night, is any more productive than sitting at home moping.
I think there is something particularly meditative about smells. They just do something for me, they stimulate my brain. The aforementioned pipe smoke which soothes and inspires me, and now the million different smells intermingling together in the atmosphere of that cafe. You could smell the Brazilian, house blend, and Costa Rican roasts of the Serve-Yourself coffee pots, freshly baked biscotti cooling in an oven that was ajar, and the various and sundry grilled sandwiches every few patron snacked on.
Anyway, there I was meditating on the sights and sounds (and not to mention the $3.75 bottomless coffee deal) hacking away at the keys of my laptop, trying to purge some sort of story out of them when all of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, there they were. The last two people I wanted to see on this planet were now deciding to invade my place of comfort. My coffeehouse that I'd been hanging around since... well since forever! It was the dreaded ex-boyfriend and his blonde-headed fiancee, ordering coffee at the bar.
Trying not to make any sudden movements, I quietly unplugged my computer from the outlet behind me, gathered up my belongings in my arms, and made an exit through the back door and into the courtyard. I exhaled in relief. I think I had been holding my breath since I got there, and now the vapors came out and crystallized in the chilly night air. I set my computer and messenger bag on a nearby table and donned my black pea coat, then fished my pipe out of my pocket and lit up another bowl of the tobacco. After nestling my laptop safely in my bag, I slung it over my shoulder and made my way home.
The coffeehouse was only a few blocks from my apartment, so I decided to walk out my thoughts instead of catching a bus. Couples walked by holding each other for warmth, leaves fell frozen to the ground, unable to hold on to their limbs any longer. How long was I going to let his presence affect me? It had been a little over a year, and I couldn't stand to even hear of him without being terribly uncomfortable. I blew smoke rings up to the moon and strolled on. I felt defeated and weak. It wasn't that I still loved him or cared for him. I had learned long ago from mutual friends how sophomoric he was. It was just that feeling of betrayal that wouldn't leave me alone.
By now, my apartment complex loomed in the distance on a hill, and I made my way towards it. Maybe next year I would remember this Valentine's Day as the one where I sat on my couch and watched Good Eats with Alton Brown while my roommate and her boyfriend made love in her bedroom.
And then the worst part happened. He started popping up everywhere. I'd hear about how my friends saw him, I'd pass him on campus, I'd even see him at the local Wal-Mart as I ducked into the gardening aisle to try and avoid him noticing me. This was getting ridiculous.
Sure, I had a man. But he'd had to work on the night that I heard the news, and so I was forced to sob alone in my room while my cat curled up next to me, hoping that a good scratch under her chin would make me feel better.
And now it was Valentine's Day. Holidays like these always made me think about where I was on that day the year before. Last year, I'd been chasing around this intellectual who'd gotten me some Joan Baez records for the candy-coated holiday. We'd really only been sleeping together. I don't think there was any real emotion there. After we had gone to see The Shins some few weeks later, we sort of stopped talking. I'd heard from a mutual friend that he was in to other people, so I decided to end the charade. I had to face it, the sex wasn't really all that worth it.
So now here I was, one year later, sitting alone at my computer with a pipe in my teeth and loneliness promenading in my mind.
Yes, a pipe. I had recently taken up pipe smoking, and for those of you tsk-tsking and thinking what a nasty habit it is, you've never smelled the sweet aroma as it curls around your nose and your body like a hand-me-down scarf. Something about the polished brier wood and the smooth, aromatic smoke it emitted calmed and inspired me.
Then there was the loneliness. Nothing says "Happy Valentine's Day" like a phone call from your lover: "Sorry babe, I have to work." I shaved my legs and everything. Oh well, I sighed to myself. If I wasn't getting any tonight then at least I could go about more productive things.
Though I doubt that sitting by yourself in a small-town coffeehouse, which is where I found myself that night, is any more productive than sitting at home moping.
I think there is something particularly meditative about smells. They just do something for me, they stimulate my brain. The aforementioned pipe smoke which soothes and inspires me, and now the million different smells intermingling together in the atmosphere of that cafe. You could smell the Brazilian, house blend, and Costa Rican roasts of the Serve-Yourself coffee pots, freshly baked biscotti cooling in an oven that was ajar, and the various and sundry grilled sandwiches every few patron snacked on.
Anyway, there I was meditating on the sights and sounds (and not to mention the $3.75 bottomless coffee deal) hacking away at the keys of my laptop, trying to purge some sort of story out of them when all of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, there they were. The last two people I wanted to see on this planet were now deciding to invade my place of comfort. My coffeehouse that I'd been hanging around since... well since forever! It was the dreaded ex-boyfriend and his blonde-headed fiancee, ordering coffee at the bar.
Trying not to make any sudden movements, I quietly unplugged my computer from the outlet behind me, gathered up my belongings in my arms, and made an exit through the back door and into the courtyard. I exhaled in relief. I think I had been holding my breath since I got there, and now the vapors came out and crystallized in the chilly night air. I set my computer and messenger bag on a nearby table and donned my black pea coat, then fished my pipe out of my pocket and lit up another bowl of the tobacco. After nestling my laptop safely in my bag, I slung it over my shoulder and made my way home.
The coffeehouse was only a few blocks from my apartment, so I decided to walk out my thoughts instead of catching a bus. Couples walked by holding each other for warmth, leaves fell frozen to the ground, unable to hold on to their limbs any longer. How long was I going to let his presence affect me? It had been a little over a year, and I couldn't stand to even hear of him without being terribly uncomfortable. I blew smoke rings up to the moon and strolled on. I felt defeated and weak. It wasn't that I still loved him or cared for him. I had learned long ago from mutual friends how sophomoric he was. It was just that feeling of betrayal that wouldn't leave me alone.
By now, my apartment complex loomed in the distance on a hill, and I made my way towards it. Maybe next year I would remember this Valentine's Day as the one where I sat on my couch and watched Good Eats with Alton Brown while my roommate and her boyfriend made love in her bedroom.
