I'm in a bad way...it's such a bad way

It's been a long, disappointing week and a half.

All my closest have been hearing about this ad nauseum since last Tuesday, so I apologize for beating a dead horse, but for the benefit of everyone else who stops by on occasion: suffice it to say that someone I thought was shaping up to be a significant factor in my life abruptly decided not to be, and it upset me tremendously.

I spent much of the ensuing time cycling through the four stages of grief, Renee-style. First, in the grand tradition of Ron Burgundy, the Glass Case of Emotion, although technically speaking it was more a Handicapped Bathroom Stall of Emotion (my poor coworkers) followed by a Small Roxbury Crossing Apartment of Emotion (my poor roommates). Second, the ever comforting yet still almost always useless Breathless Hyperanalysis of the Situation to Anyone Who Will Listen. Third, Drunkenness, which conveniently resulted in the delicious invention of the Apple Cinnamon Martini, and also the realization that consuming alcohol when one is sad only makes one sadder, thereby slipping back into the Glass Case (how did that take me so long to figure out?). Finally, Megalomaniacal Self-Rightousness, in which I remember that I am a world class fox and far too fabulous to be possessed by just any old man.

I wish I could say that I've been able to settle into Acceptance mode, but given the sticky circumstances, I've mostly settled into Blatant Avoidance and the Silent Treatment. Not the most mature route, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do when the alternative is driving herself crazy.

Luckily, things took a rapid upswing thanks to not one but two wonderful occurrences. First, fate magically showed up in my corner when a random apartment showing I set up via Craig's List turned out to be for the upstairs neighbor of the mind-bogglingly amazing apartment I lost out on in June. This time, they offered it to me on the spot, and so, barring any unforeseen catastrophes, I will be breaking hearts and causing trouble as a new resident of Somerville as early as the last week of September. Second, I got a fairly drastic haircut on a whim and now look like a supermodel who moonlights as a Rolling Stones groupie circa 1976.

It's all got potential, wouldn't you say?

(Not to mention I'm looking bewitchingly svelte. Misery is a dangerously effective diet.)