These have been some intense days.
Thursday I was out of the house, except for a brief shower, from 9 am until 10:31 pm. Long day, but worth it, full of kids and Bible storytelling, singing songs at the top of our lungs and playing with Legos and puzzles, followed by an excellent meal at my coworker's house and an evening of worship and fellowship.
My boyfriend (of a short two weeks), calls that evening to remind me that he wants me to go with him to a birthday party Friday night.
16 hours later, he calls me on the cell phone, from work, and terminates the relationship in the six minutes he was, I don't know, climbing the stairs? Delivering papers? Something about not being ready for a relationship...it was six minutes and it was on a cell connection. I'm still not sure how he got from point a to b in those 16 hours...maybe he had a bad dream. Ate something bad for breakfast? Woke up and was like, "Wow. I think I'm not in the same place as I was yesterday. I should break up with my girlfriend after lunch." ??? Who knows. One could say I wasn't in the best mental state at that point in the day.
Which perhaps explains why, two hours later, I fall down the stairs. Tomorrow I should have bruises worthy of posting and should they turn out as I think they're going to turn out, I'll be putting some pictures up. Something about those beautiful pointy witch-toe shoes seemed to not agree with the stairs in my apartment and down I went...into a heap of bruises and tears about five steps down.
An hour later, I wobble into my post-graduate class where I manage to understand about 1/4 of the professor's lecture.
Three hours later, I sit in an empty corner bar with some friends, eating Arab empanadas and talking about Italians, men in general, and Mentos.
By 12:00, we're standing in line for a poor-quality nightclub, so chosen because of its cheap entrance fee, in the rain. Thankfully, we are VIP'ed out of the line and spend the next couple hours dancing to American hip-hop and eletronica, while people-watching and laughing at bad pickup lines. I am determined to enjoy my Friday night. None of this sitting at home trying to figure out why the men I date always end up being unjustifiably crazy.
And I do. We do...getting home at a decent hour to eat pizza at my friend's house (4 am) and sleep until almost 10.
Then it's home for me, to wash my clothes from the night before, go to the grocery store and prepare a meal for 11 people. 10 if you count that the now ex-boyfriend is definitely uninvited, as I have reached a point of pleasant rage at the mention of his name. We're having Mexican, and by 5:00 this afternoon, the number of guests inviting guests raised the number of potential attendees to 13. Fourteen people showed up and we still had one plate of food left over by the end of the party. It was a rousing success if I do say so myself, and brought back fond memories of the Souphouse.
I love parties. I love people. And I am tired. Since I assume that I'm uninvited to my ex-boyfriend's aunt's for lunch tomorrow (I received the invitation on Tuesday and was looking forward to pudim and that wacky wild family), I kind of hope that someone at church will decide to carry me home with them and feed me. After having the full house tonight, it would be kind of a let-down to have to make and eat Sunday lunch alone.
But if I do, I will be spending my afternoon googling options for how to detect erratic and obviously mental, inconsiderate tendencies in men who appear to be perfect gentlemen but obviously are teetering on some kind of internal fault line.
I think maybe I should stay single for a while longer.