Bellyful of brownies

I have found my knight in shining armor and his name is Duncan Hines.

My apartment is filled with the smell of freshly baked brownies, only half of which are left because I ate half the pan as soon as they came out of the over. Baking was my answer to the sudden, random meltdown that happened as soon as I walked in the door tonight after dance class. I wish I could rack it up to PMS, but seeing as I just finished my period, I don't get off that easy.

It's just that sadness is sometimes a subtle, silent companion that only makes itself known when it so desires. What it comes down to is that I'm lonely. It's not an easy time of year to be single and nursing a broken heart. Every freaking store in Boston is full of Valentine's Day decorations. I live around the corner from The Paper Store and their windows are decked out with arty cards declaring, "All You Need is Love...and paper," and pretty displays of wedding invitations to weddings that actually happened. As if that isn't enough of a punch in the gut, almost all the invitations are to weddings in the greater LA area. WHY?? Then there's the mannequin dressed in a wedding gown made of white paper. It's the Paper Store's special way of saying "fuck you..with paper."

I had to email Glenn last night because his insurance company sent me my copy of our renter's insurance policy. Clearly he never bothered to let them know that I don't live with him in that apartment anymore. He wrote back today--a short, impersonal note, the kind that's a smack in the face even when you think you know what's coming. I wonder if he thought about me during the Superbowl, or thought about the fact that I wasn't there watching with him. I wonder if he notices the Valentine's stuff around our neighborhood in LA. I wonder if he's dating someone and can't be bothered to remember me anymore.

Ballroom dance wasn't fun tonight. So far I haven't cared about not having a partner, but tonight it got to me. Lately I've been feeling invisible to the universe and to men in particular. On my way out of work today, I rode the elevator with the cute new guy who sits down the hall. Rather than talk or even acknowledge my existence, he popped in his iPod earphones and zoned out. Men I pass on the street look straight through me as if I'm transparent. Even the dance instructor didn't notice me standing against the wall while the other couples practiced swing turns, and I get tired of having to stand up and make an effort to get noticed. The T was full of couples. My roommate's boyfriend is coming to visit for 4 nights this week. B hasn't called since I got home from San Francisco and I know he won't call anytime soon, if ever.

Long story short, I opened my front door and burst into tears. It's been a while since I've cried like that and I'm just glad that my roommate wasn't around because I couldn't deal with being polite about the way I was feeling. I stood in front of the fridge and couldn't see anything I wanted to eat. The pantry was full of food from Trader Joes that reminded me of the life I don't have with Glenn anymore. Stupid, stupid little things like the way the R on the Roche Bros.-brand food looks like the R on Ralphs-brand food. All this equaled me curled up in a ball on the couch, wishing something good would happen to pull me out of the moment. People are starving in Indonesia and I'm feeling abandoned by the universe because I'm lonely. It's all a matter of perspective.

Then came the brownies. Sometimes comfort food really does bring comfort. I'm still curled up on the couch, but this time my stomach is full of chocolately goodness and I'm watching a rerun of last week's Battlestar and suddenly the world isn't quite so bad. We'll see how I feel tomorrow morning when I wake up (and when I get on the scale).