Friday was one day shy of three weeks since Mr. Bromance broke up with me. Twenty days to be exact. My tear ducts have gone dry, my appetite has returned with a vengeance, and I'm finally starting to feel a version of "normal" again. Three weeks should be more than sufficient time to have forgotten him, right? Nope, not yet, dammit. Still waiting.
9:30 am. I went to a quarterly meeting at work and sat with friends. Since Mr. Bromance and I work in the same department, to avoid staring at the back of his head for an hour and a half, sitting all the way up front at meetings has become a new survival technique for me. Of course, he sits just two rows behind me, only just a few feet away. I know he is forced to look at me the entire time, but our eyes never meet. We watch a company video that talks about...well I don't recall what the actors in the video were talking about... because I was too focused on the room that they were speaking in. Brick walls. A red velvet curtain. Colorful paper lanterns. I'd been there. With him. Just a few weeks ago. At his acquaintance's wedding. Also the same location that he'd be the best man for one of his bromance partners next year. What are the chances? This room that I was staring at on the screen in front of me was located in the Georgetown area of Seattle. I work in Bellevue, not close at all. I need to tell someone. Now. I try to whisper it to my best west coast friend, Ms. Mejor Amiga, sitting next to me, but I can't without everyone hearing. I want to turn around at him and smile and point at the screen, but I know I can't. Against the rules. I wonder if he was thinking the same thing. Probably not. Damn you, universe.
2:00 pm. Today is the day that I get out of work early as part of a monthly department productivity incentive. This replaces all rush hour traffic worries with giddiness, as I am meeting Ms. MIT for dinner and to see a musical later on in Fremont. It also makes me happy because I decide to wonder the shops of Ballard for a few hours to leisurely pass the time. I make my way to a favorite shop, Camelion Design (just a block away from where he and I first hung out and flirted and found our favorite band together - ughhh everything reminds me of him still), in hopes that I might be able to purchase a pretty ring that I'd seen there last year, but didn't want to splurge on before. Splurging on yourself is on nearly every Breakup Rules list and in every Self Help book out there, so I thought, hey why not? To my dismay, they were no longer selling my dreamy little ring. I did, however, come across a super unique necklace that I had to have. I walked around the store contemplating the self indulgence, then went in for the shopping kill. A blown glass bubble with a tiny feather inside. I love it! Love it so much in fact, no pictures to post in this blog post, as I plan to write a separate piece about it because it deserves it so! I love Camelion Design as well. The girls who work here are always super genuinely nice, no snooty hipster attitudes here. I go a step farther by asking the girl wrapping up my new present for me about their consignment process. I tell her briefly how I make jewelry and that I'd never sold before. She gives me her boss's card and some instructions. It's an itty bitty step towards a dream of mine. I desperately want to sell my designs but everything has to be perfect first. I still haven't even finished designing my logo. But now I'm feeling high on ambition and new jewelry, and that makes me feel good.
3:45 pm. A necklace, a candle holder, and a carribean blue tea kettle later, I find myself at Cafe Fiore. I'd been here one time before, taking a coffee to go. This time, getting comfortable with sitting in public alone, I order a coffee, cup and saucer style. The barista has the coolest tattoos so I ask her if she minds sharing where she got them done. Particularly a simple feather on her forearm. She starts to tell me about how her friend does all her tattoos. My heart skips a beat because getting my first tattoo is on my near-future list of things to do and the fact that her friend is a girl excites me, because I've always thought it'd be cool to get it done by a female artist, don't know why. Then she shares with me her friend lives in San Francisco. Of course. Bummer. I start walking my coffee like a tight rope walker, trying not to spill it, to the last open table. A man in front of me with a laptop grabs it first. He sees me turn around and then says to me, "You can share this table with me.". I sit down. I bring out my self help journal activity book, carefuly concealing the cover, and a notebook. I multitask between the two, writing down ideas to blog about, and taking on writing assignments instructed by my self-help book. My Sevilla coffee with an orange peel floating in it is simply amazing. I love the atmosphere of this place, with its brick walls and filament light bulbs. I glance up at the man and notice he's kinda cute. Stiff and preppy with his tight boxy plaid button down shirt sleeves peeking out from his navy sweater. Not my type, but cute enough to smirk at the situation and text Ms. Mejor Amiga. She tells me to take a pic. I told her, no way, too risky. I snap a camera phone photo of my coffee anyway. I read the instructional sign on the wall that explains that you are supposed to share tables with strangers. Maybe the preppy man wasn't the heroic gentleman type after all. Oh well, I still plan on going back to share more tables with more strangers.
11:45 pm. I hop into bed and decide to read the Introduction chapter of a self help book I bought (at the same time as my self help journal activity book). Buying and reading self help books was Task #1 given to me by Ms. Mejor Amiga. Seems like a pathetic way to spend a Friday night, remembering wine and cuddling and romantic weekend evenings just a month ago. I was pleasantly surprised. The introduction consisted mostly of a list 52 rule type items, titled "What a Satisfied Single Knows", that I understood and agreed with. After I finished, I flipped the book over before placing it on my night stand. I took notice to the thumbnail photo of the author on the back cover. She was older looking than I had imagined. My eyes glanced over the author's profile below, and then there it was. The universe again. The words "Kirkland, Washington". I think I said "Are you fucking serious?" out loud. How is this even possible? This was the home land of Mr. Bromance. I mean, I hadn't just plucked the book out of some local book store. I chose a book from Barnes & Noble, by an author who had been on CNN and Oprah. Oprah! I plopped the book onto my night stand, turned the light out, and tried to go to sleep.
9:00 am the next day. I woke up piecing together the dream I just had. Something about me winning something and the celebrity guest handing out the awards was Matthew Fox. Mmmm. I guess that's what happens when you watch four seasons of "Lost" on Netflix in three weeks. The next thing I thought about was the feathers. The floating feather in my new necklace. The floating feather tattooed to the barista's arm. Holy shit. Revelation. The feather was the missing image from my jewelry logo. Then I thanked the universe.
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