Thirty-six hours after my wisdom tooth left its humble abode in my head, I have worn a groove in my couch. I have a cozy pile of quilts, ten books that I keep meaning to read, a space heater for my cold feet, both remote controls in reach, and lots of mushy food at my disposal. The ever-fabulous BC swung me home yesterday and then came by for an evening happy hour on the couch – Vicodin for me and bourbon for him. OK, and a tiny itsy bitty bourbon for me. I was fully supervised.
Today I woke to a puffy cheek that no amount of makeup could hide, so I’m not exactly ready for my close-up. In fact, I’m rocking the same sweatpants and T-shirt that I put on yesterday when I got home. I have 15 episodes of the Ghost Whisperer on DVR to pull me through (a new guilty pleasure). And if I get bored, my mother calls three times a day to check on me. With all of the nothingness spread out for the weekend, I’m still grateful to have distractions.
The Ex’s new ex called me on Wednesday night and left a voicemail. They broke up. It seems the Ex was up to the same old tricks- calling, texting, and hitting on other girls when her back was turned. Including her own roommate. Because the Ex is classy like that. At first, I felt like calling back to apologize. As if somehow this was all my fault. I thought about some sort of empathetic chat, bonding over the Ex’s flaws. But by the next morning, that moment had passed. Because it’s not my fault that the Ex is such a loser. It’s just how it is. I feel bad that someone else is hurting and all, but she’s not the first, and I would bet she won’t be the last. The Ex is not going to change. And it’s not my problem to deal with anymore.
I’d rather spend my time with my big pile of magazines, and my best friend, and chocolate ice cream. Not somebody else’s problem. I may have one less wisdom tooth, but I have enough wisdom to choose to stay out of it.