There was a huge fight. Dozens of hours of crying. Awful words exchanged. Now Sunday night, all parties are exhausted. Plans were made and canceled. Doors slammed. Things thrown.
I've cleaned my apartment, done laundry, fluffed pillows, ordered a ton of Thai food and have the mindless television on full blast. The nice, warm lights are on, my comfy sweater is wrapped around me, and I sit on the couch waiting for the phone to buzz.
It's called a break-up. And for once it's not mine. Anabella is coming over for a sleepover, and a cryfest, and I am here for her in this horrible time. I love her, she loves him, and this is what happens sometimes. I'm the one saying the words of wisdom this time. We will see if when I say it to her it's more helpful than when she said it to me.
Wish us luck...