Bedknobs and Broomsticks

Tiffany is letting me buy our bed off of her for $150.

...and that is the best part of my life, at the moment.

It has become a mantra. When I spent Monday night accepting passive aggressive comments from the girl who could not push me away fast enough; at least I am getting the bed. When Jessica informed me while I was in Emmett trying not to drown under the weight of Tiffany's not-so-obvious hostility that she has fallen for another girl that is NOT me; at least I am getting the bed. When Tiffany called me after our visit to tell me that there was a change in plans and that she was moving on Wednesday instead of a month from now and would not get to see me before she left;

At Least I Am Getting The Bed.

People think I should get over it already. They are right, I probably should. The problem is that I have done a lot of talking and not a lot of feeling. I can't seem to shake the numb denial that nothing is out of the ordinary. I am sending condolence messages to Tiffany's best friends, sending my support. I am frantically texting bright, cheerful texts to Tiffany assuring her that moving is scary but that she will be fine; to keep her chin up and that everything will turn out.

It's going to be just me and my cat in that huge king-sized memory foam mattress that used to be ours...

but at least I got the bed.