First of all, there’s something wonky about how I’ve been numbering my blog posts. The Dumping took place the evening of August 9th, and yet it’s somehow been 33 days since then? I’m no math whiz, but that doesn’t seem to add up.
In any event, exactly a month ago I was catatonic on my sofa, too sad to wash iced tea out of my hair and too sad to eat anything. Today, I’d say I’m considerably better off. I’m eating like a champ again and I assure you my hair has no beverages of any kind in it.
Anyway, last night, he sends me a text asking me for the code to the lock to the garden. I reply with said code. Then he texts me back a photo of the dill, which he is shocked to learn is as tall as he is (forgetting I, of course, have been tending to it since The Dumping and know full well how amazingly tall it is).
I reply with something the effect of “Crazy, huh?” And then I went back to watching Project Runway on my laptop.
Then just now I get an email from him with all these pictures of adorable pandas eating a birthday cake. I know you’re all going to demand to see it, so here’s the link.
He knows I’m a sucker for adorable animals of all types. I have this tick where when I see an adorable animal, I feel the need to exclaim what it is out loud, like a six-year-old. For instance, we’re walking down the street and I’ll yell “puppy!” when some dude walking his dog passes us or “horsey!” when we’re driving in the country or “froggy!” upon viewing a Telus ad.
He says the garden is looking really good, and he hopes I’m having fun in Toronto.
It’s nice to hear from him, and it’s nice he has resumed sending me links he knows I’ll like. Yet, I don’t have any particular desire to run back into his arms or anything. I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I’m not really much of anything. And that’s good.