20 December 2010

The Hardest, Happy Day

1 November 2010
First thing on the agenda for November, get out of Vegas. I had a really early flight and my dear friend Kate got up at an unholy hour to make sure I made it. I did. I also remembered where I parked, which was a plus. I should note, three days in the SFO parking lot were cheaper than a one way cab ride between the airport and my apartment. I'm sure there is a statement there about something, but I don't know what that is.

Second order of business, a trip to Target. I mean I had my car, and I had time before work. There was no way I could not go. I don't remember if I had a list, but as I checked out it occurred to me: I may have an addiction to cleaning products. I know I have an addiction to the idea of saving money - I bought Halloween candy just because it was already on sale. I bought great big bags, just to bring to work. It might have been part of the break up retail therapy. Either way, I was riding high after a) catching my flight, b) feeling like I got half-off airport transportation and c) buying reasonably priced stuff. I even found parking right away. November was starting well. I even tried to spread the cheer, hiding Snickers bars in XBFJ's stuff. I did not dig or pry, I just dropped candy in a drawer or a box or on top of a blanket. I thought that was nice of me. And I went to work. It was Game 5 of the World Series.

The city was electric. Everyone seemed to be just as giddy as I was. I worked. I watched the game. I watched people watching the game. There was a viewing party outside city hall and while I wasn't able to get out there, I could see the larger picture. It was selectively unifying. The way America is unified against other countries during the Olympics, only on a smaller scale. We were San Franciscans and even us non-baseball people were caught up in the merriment. The Giants won and the city erupted in the nicest mobs I've ever seen. People poured into the streets, jumping and cheering... and clearing for oncoming traffic. I mean there was obviously no reason to be disruptive. In other neighborhoods, toilet paper was celebration tool of choice. Let's face it, San Francisco is as lame at rioting as Kate, Melissa & I are at raging girls' night in. I am okay with that.

I even received a gift bag. Someone out there knows I exist, though I am not on TV. That is rare. It's extremely rare. In fact, I don't think it's ever happened to me. The night was full of great feelings and excitement. My show was superb, and may even be Emmy worthy. November was off to a stellar start. I felt good things, and decided it would be okay for me wake XBFJ, if he were asleep. I wondered if he had been at city hall, or elsewhere amongst the revelers. I wanted to see if he had found all the candy I stashed and of course to show him my new hat. But opening the front door literally sucked days' worth of joy out of me. By the time I walked down the hallway I was doubled over with grief.

He was gone.

I heard it when I opened the door, the sound of an emptier apartment. My brain was caught off guard. I was not hearing the quiet of a sleeping neighbor, I was hearing the loneliness that was to be my next companion. The living room had been mostly cleared. His drawers were empty. His books were gone. I sat on the floor and I sobbed. Not so much that because he had moved out, but because it was the first time in a long, long time that I had something to share and no one with which to share it. I had come home bursting with so much excitement, I was going to wake my ex-boyfriend to tell him my about day. Meanwhile, he hadn't thought me worthy enough to even send a text saying he was leaving, or that he was gone, or if he was coming back. Nearly eight years together and he slips out, leaving behind his non essentials and Snickers' wrappers. I should have been angry. I should have called him and told him I would not store his stuff for free. I should have told him it was all about to be burned. But there was no room for hostility in my heart. I sealed off the living room and cried myself to sleep.