she loves him just as much as I do. A scary movie or two and a junk food dinner never hurt anyone. I let them have their weekends where she basks in the glory of being “cool” to a nine year old. Some women want fame, fortune, and a fabulously charming lover. Maggie wants the approval of my sweet boy and I love her for it.
I collapse on the couch as soon as I walk through the door but time seems to have either stopped or gone into overdrive. I’m not sure which. The only thing I’m sure of is the hollow space that I feel in my chest. It’s not painful. It’s not anything. I’m stunned. How to reach me. I play the words back in my head and try to let it sink in. His voice was deep and smooth but disconnected at the same time. It was like he cared, but he was trying not to. I’ve never pictured Russ that way. In my mind, he’s always been warm and caring. The man I met today is the epitome of an asshole. I was utterly shocked. I’m not sure how I was so far off the mark with him. What I do know is that this disaster is clear evidence of why I shouldn’t date. Under any circumstances. I clearly have awful judgment.
“Knitting and 67 cats it is,” I mutter condescendingly to myself.
A hot shower does the trick to calm my inner ramblings. After forty-five minutes, the hot water cascading down my back turns to ice and I reluctantly turn off the tap and step out. I pull on my favorite sweatpants and a tank top. I don’t even bother with my blonde curls, giving my locks a quick towel dry and putting them into a sloppy pile atop my head.
Dinner is a no brainer and requires zero work on my behalf. Cereal. I watch four episodes of The Twilight Zone and successfully ignore the urge to check my phone or instant messages. I can’t help but wonder if Russ is as conflicted as I am. I bet he isn’t. The man I met today doesn’t seem like the type to be conflicted about anything. The man I saw in that office is the type that crushes people under his thumb because he can. I know his type. I had a baby with his type.
It’s a Friday night and the college guy that lives downstairs is pissing me off with his usual thumping music. I get it, it’s the weekend, but geez. Another five minutes pass, my tapping foot is a sign that my patience is wearing thin. I turn the volume up just as the song changes and the thumping speeds up. I roll my eyes and let my head fall back to the couch cushion behind me. Don’t do it, Linds. Don’t be the lame chick upstairs.
A loud crashing noise resonates through my floor and my shitty mood wins out over the popularity contest. Maybe it’s my personal life fueling my mood, but I slip on my flip flops and march out my door. I may be getting evicted, but I still live here for now, dammit!
I bang on the door three times with my balled up fist and wait. The door swings open and a kid bouncing a hacky sack between his feet answers. He’s not my neighbor. At least, I don’t think he is.
“Sup?” he chimes playfully then catches the ball in mid-air.
The smell of marijuana comes wafting out into the hall and I roll my eyes again and put my hand on my hip. “Seriously?”
“What?” the shaggy-haired guy asks.
“You all are way too loud.”
The Ashton Kutcher lookalike smiles and starts to snort and laugh.
“Look, I know the owner of this property and I swear I’ll call him right now if you don’t pipe down!” I threaten, knowing that I wouldn’t dare.
The stupid guy wipes the grin from his face and puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.”
“And get rid of the pot, Ashton.”
His face contorts into a look of confusion and I turn on my heels, feeling a slight zip of confidence as I make my way back to my own apartment. I revel in the feeling. Confidence is nice.
When I step out into the hall on my floor, I see a package on the floor in front of my door. I pause in my tracks and scan the hall for a delivery person. No one.
I stoop down and pick up the
I collapse on the couch as soon as I walk through the door but time seems to have either stopped or gone into overdrive. I’m not sure which. The only thing I’m sure of is the hollow space that I feel in my chest. It’s not painful. It’s not anything. I’m stunned. How to reach me. I play the words back in my head and try to let it sink in. His voice was deep and smooth but disconnected at the same time. It was like he cared, but he was trying not to. I’ve never pictured Russ that way. In my mind, he’s always been warm and caring. The man I met today is the epitome of an asshole. I was utterly shocked. I’m not sure how I was so far off the mark with him. What I do know is that this disaster is clear evidence of why I shouldn’t date. Under any circumstances. I clearly have awful judgment.
“Knitting and 67 cats it is,” I mutter condescendingly to myself.
A hot shower does the trick to calm my inner ramblings. After forty-five minutes, the hot water cascading down my back turns to ice and I reluctantly turn off the tap and step out. I pull on my favorite sweatpants and a tank top. I don’t even bother with my blonde curls, giving my locks a quick towel dry and putting them into a sloppy pile atop my head.
Dinner is a no brainer and requires zero work on my behalf. Cereal. I watch four episodes of The Twilight Zone and successfully ignore the urge to check my phone or instant messages. I can’t help but wonder if Russ is as conflicted as I am. I bet he isn’t. The man I met today doesn’t seem like the type to be conflicted about anything. The man I saw in that office is the type that crushes people under his thumb because he can. I know his type. I had a baby with his type.
It’s a Friday night and the college guy that lives downstairs is pissing me off with his usual thumping music. I get it, it’s the weekend, but geez. Another five minutes pass, my tapping foot is a sign that my patience is wearing thin. I turn the volume up just as the song changes and the thumping speeds up. I roll my eyes and let my head fall back to the couch cushion behind me. Don’t do it, Linds. Don’t be the lame chick upstairs.
A loud crashing noise resonates through my floor and my shitty mood wins out over the popularity contest. Maybe it’s my personal life fueling my mood, but I slip on my flip flops and march out my door. I may be getting evicted, but I still live here for now, dammit!
I bang on the door three times with my balled up fist and wait. The door swings open and a kid bouncing a hacky sack between his feet answers. He’s not my neighbor. At least, I don’t think he is.
“Sup?” he chimes playfully then catches the ball in mid-air.
The smell of marijuana comes wafting out into the hall and I roll my eyes again and put my hand on my hip. “Seriously?”
“What?” the shaggy-haired guy asks.
“You all are way too loud.”
The Ashton Kutcher lookalike smiles and starts to snort and laugh.
“Look, I know the owner of this property and I swear I’ll call him right now if you don’t pipe down!” I threaten, knowing that I wouldn’t dare.
The stupid guy wipes the grin from his face and puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.”
“And get rid of the pot, Ashton.”
His face contorts into a look of confusion and I turn on my heels, feeling a slight zip of confidence as I make my way back to my own apartment. I revel in the feeling. Confidence is nice.
When I step out into the hall on my floor, I see a package on the floor in front of my door. I pause in my tracks and scan the hall for a delivery person. No one.
I stoop down and pick up the
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