Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. I plan to rend my garments, and put on sackcloth and ashes, and go out into the midst of the city, and cry with a loud and bitter cry.
Either that or stay home and eat a gallon of ice cream and a pound of Oreos while watching old Buffy episodes.
My ex-boyfriend N.T., who moved out in December, came over tonight to play with our dog, A. She danced around him with uncontrollable joy at seeing him again and then peed on the floor of my room.
I wish I could believe that this wasn’t in some way a metaphor for my life.