This weekend I forced myself back to the gym for the first time since you left. I felt so sick each prior weekend that I couldn't do it. But I am trying to get back to some of the things that comprised my routine.
I thought that the exercise might help me to feel a little better; that it might cause my brain to release some endorphins and ease the sadness, at least for a short while. It didn't. But I will keep going if I possibly can. I took it easy on myself this weekend, but my thighs are sore anyway. And so I know that I need it.
I could tell that I'd lost weight over these past 3 weeks. Pants that used to sit where they were supposed to now hang too low around my hips. But I didn't know how much. You took the bathroom scale. At the gym today, I weighed myself and learned that I am down 15 pounds.
This weekend I also discovered some more items that you forgot or left behind. In the basement is your silverware, your tennis racket, and your green snow shovel. In the attic are both of your fans, and the small tiled table we always put outdoors in the good weather. While in the attic I was stunned to discover that the vinca vine in the summer planters we had stowed away has not only survived the winter and four months of neglect, but has grown like crazy and is currently flowering. On instinct I wanted to call out to you so that you could come up and take a look.
Each day still brings new disappointments and ways to feel betrayed. This was the weekend we were supposed to go to a particular show together. You were more excited about it than I was, but I agreed and you bought the tickets in the fall. Once you left, you gave my ticket away. Apparently to the coworker with whom you'd been staying for the past few weeks, as a thank you, you said. That hurt like hell. And this weekend it hurt like hell all over again as I imagined you there with someone who wasn't me.