28/36

No, those aren't my new girlfriend's measurements. That's how many hours I've slept out of the last day and a half. 28h out of 36.

Franko said "sounds like a little bit of depression there, buddy." Heh. You think?

So, anyway. I went to breakfast this morning. Then I went Best Buy to return the bluetooth speakerphone Mel gave me a couple of weeks ago. Turns out that at one point in the not-too-distant past, it was worth $90 for her just to be able to hear my voice a little more clearly.

I exchanged it. The new one is charging.

Funny thing happened to expose my own passion/insanity, though. In the process of looking up the receipt, the clerk asked me for her phone number. And her -- nay, his -- last name. And her address popped up. Their address.

It was on screen for less than 10 seconds. Not a big deal at all, really. Most people would've grunted and sneered, just like I did, and immediately forgotten.

But then, most people don't have a photographic memory, either. I read it twice. I may remember it on my death bed, now.

For a few brief moments in the hour since, I've thought about acting like him. Thought about pounding on their door, thought about making a scene, thought about invading his personal privacy, space, and home the way he did me.

And here I sit, staring into the abyss of my own insanity. My own dysfunction.

But it is still a choice. There is always a choice. A choice to choose Paris, children with mensa memberships that will break six feet in height, and a mate always pushing you to the next level. A choice to be able to discuss travel, osmosis, and T1s... first class on Virgin Air, the relative effects of welfare on genetic diversity, and insistence on not sharing your girl with anyone except Dino.

A choice to be crazy. Or a choice to be a bigger man. A better man. A choice to grow and progress into something more than you are today. More than you can conceive of being tomorrow.

Today I choose. Today I am more than I was yesterday. Today I take lemons and I make lemonade. Today I hide her True Blood DVD in the bottom of a drawer and clean my house.

Today I return to work and make fun plans for the evening.

Today I decide. I will still answer the phone when she calls someday, because she will. And I decide not to wait for her, because she chose.

"Don't go. You're my girl." I said.

"Yes, but I'm his wife."

And she left. She chose. Some decisions life chooses for you if you don't take a stand. Some periods of limbo self-resolve if left on their own, festering, for long enough.

But how I choose to live today is my decision. How I choose to deal with my loss, my broken heart, my last experience of many in the long list of Alfie's broken hearts and shattered dreams is my call.

I will need some of my anger to do this. I will need to invoke some cynicism to find the ever-so-fragile strength I need to move forward. And I will need to rely on just me to do it.

But I'm always there for me. And so it will be alright.

Someday I will look back on her and wonder what I was thinking. Someday I will not remember what being loved by her felt like. Someday I won't be in love with her anymore.

I'll still love her deep down. But it won't be the same.

Someday I'll hear our songs, and instead of feeling teary, I'll turn them off. Then, later, I'll turn them up, and sing along, because remembering will be sweet, even if a little painful. And I'll feel proud that I got through this time.

This pain that is so overwhelming right this minute. Right now. Present.

I am still me. I am still strong. I can still do anything, even if my hubris needs tempering and my tenacity needs reassurance at times.

I still deserve to be loved. I still deserve to feel the affection and... love (was it?) she bestowed upon me. I still deserve to have the support and appreciation and embrace that was mine to enjoy for a few brief moments in time.

--

And no, I'm not going to stalk her. Duh.