Rain Nor Sleet Nor Gloom of Night

I get up and start moving but doing anything but sitting and dwelling is downright painful.  I start to strip a bed. I sit and simper a little. I finish making the bed. I lay down across it and sniffle a little.

Charlotte calls. I am immediately crying. I tell her everything. She wants to kill him all over again. I tell her I feel like the housewife whose husband goes out for a pack of smokes and never comes back. I have that many answers.

She tells me my life has become a country song.

I post the sentiment to Facebook and credit her. Suddenly we are both laughing.

She tells me that she and Jack will be over to take me out to the Pub for dinner and in the meantime I need to get myself looking fabulous and get out in public to mail that package back to Scott. Good riddance.

I do just that. I put on a zippy little sweater and jeans and my favorite boots, tie a cool scarf around my neck and head out with Scott's box of crap.  I've returned all of his things, and a few that he's given me... household things that I can't bear to look at. I tell him as much in a note. I tell him I don't send the gifts back to hurt him, but that I can not help but be reminded of what might have been if we'd talked more and that I need to get him out of my head, if not my heart. Signed, sealed and addressed. I am off to the mall by way of the post office.

I wait in line, feeling the weight of the box and the weight of what I am doing. I am sure I look positively miserable. I make a mental note to stop by the liquor store around the corner. A little wine is in order.

When it is my turn, I step up to the desk and the clerk asks me how I'd like the package to be sent.

"Slow and cheap, " I say. "These are my boyfriend's things and he just dumped me. So let's not bother with insurance either."

"Any hazardous chemicals in the box, ma'am?"

Now why didn't I think of that?

"No," I say. "It is just a box of crappy memories."

The clerk looks at the address label. "Is this where he lives?"

I nod. He remarks that most of that town is under water from the storm.

"He's fine," I say. "He's fine. The house is fine. He's just an asshole, that's all."

We don't talk much more. I pay for shipping and walk away.

Somehow I don't feel unburdened.  I take a picture of the receipt and text it to Scott.

"Your stuff's been mailed."