Sitting.

It occurred to me today that I have eased out of Shock and Awe and have transitioned into more of a "This happened and it wasn't my choice but here we are" frame of mind.

Along with this, I am finally tired. I think my body has been running on adrenaline and panic. This also probably explains how I haven't been sleeping or eating, but I haven't been tired or hungry. One nice thing? I did lose 10 pounds. In six weeks. Without trying.

Yeah, you know you're jealous.

Now I'm making the rounds, having dinner with friends. Last night and tonight, I had dinner with college friends who now have shorties running about. I love my friends and I love their kids. But as I watched a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old dancing along to Dancing With the Stars, I felt sad.

My friends have hectic households with dirty floors and Cheerios stuck to walls. But there's a lot of joy.

I don't necessarily feel the need to have a biological child. But I am grieving for the little girl I thought would be my stepdaughter.

I'm thinking about the time we pretended the couch was a boat and the carpet was a sea of chocolate pudding, and all the stuffed animals kept falling in and had to be rescued. And I'm thinking about coloring and swinging and riding bikes, of blonde hair and Little Mermaid swimsuits.

And I'm sad.

I'm not inconsolable, incapable of getting off the couch like I was a week ago. But I'm sad. Finding the secret stash of coloring books and such that I had tucked away for the Ladybug didn't help. And I still have a beanie baby in my glove box in case of emergency.

I was a great partner. And I would have been a great stepmom. And my house? Really quiet.

Things are looking up. Now with more maggots!

Saturday night, both Poochie and I were overcome with "Sweet Jeeezus, what is that smell?"

It was Foxie Doxie. He put his head down and looked away, all, "Dude, I am just over here minding my own bidness. I don't know nothing 'bout no stank-ass smell."

I drowned him in Johnson & Johnson's baby shampoo and we called it good. Well, Poochie and I called it good, and my poor little dog called it cruel and unusual punishment.

We recounted the story to Alice and Jake. When asked what the stench smelled like, Poochie quickly answered, "Death!" And we all laughed.

The next day, we let Foxie Doxie outside, and Poochie watched him run directly over to a spot in the yard. The sassy canine took a deep whiff and the proceeded to roll with wild abandon.

Poochie checked it out and returned to the house with a grim face.

"Do you have a shovel? It's a decomposed squirrel. And maggots."

I started waving my hands in front of my face. I believe this would be called "Having the vapors." And from the house, I watched my brave and darling brother dig up the remains and the parasites.

I realized that having to clean up that mess by myself would have sent me over the edge. But God / Buddha / Oprah provides. Poochie ceremoniously dumped the carcass and the maggots ... over the fence into the yard of the repossessed house of the pothead next door. And all was well.

I've found a new place to dwell.

Welcome to all of the kind folks who have journeyed here via the lovely Mrs. G. Welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel … where the meds are starting to kick in and I’m exploring better living through new electronics.

So, my brother Poochie came this weekend. He held me while I cried and cried. And then he announced that we were done crying. So we ate barbeque. And then we bought a TV.

Last week, when Alice was helping me develop a plan that was more than “sit on my couch and sob,” one of her tough-love action items was about my TV. Some friends gave it to me three years ago … they were going to put it on the curb, but I took it instead.

It buzzes. And the picture is really dark. And this beaute is hooked up to DishNetwork, which I think means I am truly white trash, not far from the shotgun shack with the satellite dish.

So Alice suggested I rearrange my living room furniture and buy a new TV already. I think maybe the TV was one of those things that I took for granted but maybe everyone who visited the house noticed. Hmm.

So, Poochie and I trekked to Best Buy and I bought one of them there flat screen tee vees. We rearranged the furniture, but left the old TV plugged in on the floor so that we could experience the joy of unranked Iowa beating #3 Penn State. There was celebration. And smart interior design.

There was also celebration for Foxie Doxie. I determined Thursday night that the young rapscallion had ingested … a pantyliner.

Yep.

I suddenly had visions of having to tell either I Love You Forever Dr. Vet or his counterpart, More My Age and Totally Hot Vet that my dog was deathly ill because he ate a pantyliner.

Poop Watch 2008 commenced.

And then, there was celebration, because Foxie Doxie passed it like a champ. And even outside! And Poochie sang Kool ‘n’ The Gang’s “Celebration” in the middle of the street. And all was right with the world.

All in all, it’s been a pretty good weekend so far. I’m trying really hard not to be daunted by the eight hours of nothing to do before it’s time to go to bed. There was a time when I would kill for eight hours of nothing to do … now, I feel tasked with work, that work being Doing Something.

So maybe I’ll watch some TV. Or maybe I’ll go to Old Navy and buy some underwear since half the contents of my undie drawer are unwearable. Or maybe I’ll be a good neighbor and rake some of those leaves. Or maybe I’ll just keep surfing blogs.

Yeah, this is why the readers keep pouring in and keep coming back for more. The drama. Welcome.

The mix tape keeps following me.

If you want to really experience The Mix Tape From Hell, just go to Walgreens. Their muzak is full of this-song-makes-me-want-to-die classics that you had previously purged from your memory.

If you really want to get the full experience, you'll go to Walgreens to fill your very first ever antidepressant prescription. This, after meeting with a very kind psychiatrist with a very thick Spanish accent. Although you will be puffy-eyed from crying during the appointment, you'll feel somewhat validated by how she looked at you and said, "You have been depressed for a very long time. Why have you waited so long to come see me?"

And you'll even think that maybe she had a point when she told you that maybe you were acting funny for months from the chemical imbalance - to which you are genetically predisposed - and perhaps that played a role in your recent breakup.

And you'll want to hug her when she promises you that it will be ok, with or without Mr. Wonderful.

So when you're puffy-eyed, waiting for your scripts at Walgreens, you'll actually flip through a copy of Cosmo. And while you're looking at an article about how to pick up guys in bars, a prospect that is most heinous and foreign to you, you'll hear the forgotten gem "Don't let it end" by Dennis DeYoung.

And you'll want to barf. And / or sob hysterically.

So then you'll go buy some eye cream, get your meds and get the hell out of there.

Beautiful privilege.

I was able to vote early, and cast my ballot on Saturday.

I got there about half an hour before the poll closed, and the line snaked through the county administration building. All told, I waited about an hour and a half.

It was hot. People were obviously wilted, but the mood was upbeat. Everyone had a sense of purpose, even after the wait.

When I finally made it into the voting area, the older woman at the registration table looked a bit frazzled and beat. I asked her how she was doing, realizing that she had about another hour of voters in line behind me.

She beamed. “I’m great! Isn’t this exciting? We’re making history! I can’t wait for Tuesday!”

Indeed.

My feelings can best be expressed in song.

Wow – there was such a backlash against my offhand comment about making a mix tape. I love it!

So, of course, I think we should all brainstorm on the worst, tackiest, most awful post-break-up mix tape songs ever. Because it’s fun, not because I will actually make a mix tape. I promise. And also because I desperately need something to laugh about, as I sent the “please don’t contact me any more” e-mail today, even though really, really I do want to see him and talk to him but it just hurts too much. And I just pretty much want to die.

So. Let us focus on the task at hand.

My suggestions for the World’s Most Awkward and Humiliating Mix Tape:

• I don’t want to live without your love – Chicago (Honorable mention: If you leave me now. Oh, and “Look away.” And pretty much the entire Chicago catalog.)


• All out of love – Air Supply


• The way we were – Barbra Streisand


• Didn’t we almost have it all – Whitney Houston


• Against all odds (take a look at me now) – Phil Collins


• Right here waiting – Richard Marx


• All by myself – Eric Carmen


• Trying to get the feeling again – Barry Manilow


• You don’t bring me flowers – Neil Diamond / Barbra Streisand

I admit that I have quoted one of these songs to Mr. Wonderful. But I’ll never tell which one.

And now that I’m completely and totally depressed … your turn. Readers?

I can no longer say I'm great fun at parties.

It's been a rough few days. Oh, but who are we kidding? It's been a rough however long.

Friday, I realized that Mr. Wonderful doesn't love me - if he ever did - and that we aren't getting back together anytime in the near future. I guess I really don't have to worry about his Christmas gift (which for once I actually knew what to get - I've known since July. Goddammit.).

Yes, I'm 33 years old. Yes, I was still viewing part of this breakup like a 13-year-old girl. And yes, it still hurts just as bad now as it did when I had braces and worried about getting my locker open. In fact, it hurts way worse.

I won't even go into the fact that I have actually caught myself considering, "Hey - maybe I should make him a mix tape."

But now I know where I am and can move forward from there.

And moving forward seems to mean moving off my couch. Alice and Jake invited me to tag along to a Halloween party Friday night. Planning my tattoo artist costume provided hours of Something to Do, and I was excited to meet new people. But after spending an hour and a half crying Friday afternoon, my brain was in a slightly, uh, off-kilter, non-party place.

My eyes were too swollen for the fake eyelashes.

But I went with it. I cried a little at Alice and Jake's, and then I got my shit together, we put on our costumes, and we went to the party. I didn't know anyone except Alice and Jake.

Everyone was nice. Alice and Jake didn't abandon me. But I was completely overwhelmed. I looked at all the strangers around me and thought that where I really wanted to be was trick-or-treating with Mr. Wonderful and the Ladybug. Of any of the men at the party, of all the men in the world, I was only interested in Mr. Wonderful.

I held up the wall. I realized I could ask Jake to take me home and he could come back to the party.

This realization put me on the verge of tears.

I held it together for a few more minutes. Then I said, "Hey, can I ask you a favor?"

Bless his heart, he moved quickly. Five minutes later, all three of us were in the car. I sobbed like a freak. I was afraid I'd ruined their evening, even though they said they were glad to have a reason to leave after only 45 minutes. I was so relieved to be out of that house and free to be just as sad as I truly was.

They spoke reassuring words and offered to let me stay in their guest room. If you look up "friends" in the dictionary, you will see their photos.

I didn't stay at their house, but just the offer made me feel safe and secure. I went home. Alice picked me up at 8 a.m. for a yoga class that she didn't mention was an advanced class. It was great, but I have hardly been able to move since. And I have a new mantra, courtesy of a van we saw merging onto the highway as we drove to class.

It was an old brown minivan with plastic in lieu of windows at the driver's door, the side window on the driver's side and, inexplicably, also for the back window on the passenger side. The worst part, though, was that the woman driving the van had to lift up the plastic at the corner of the driver's side "window" so that she could see her mirror to merge.

Alice, empathetic always, said, "At least you're not driving that van."

Indeed. I have faith.