Little Rituals.

When something goes awry in our lives, we have little rituals that we conduct in the hopes of obtaining the old balance of life with out chaos, to regain the order and start again.

In the post break up period it’s often the ritualistic burning that involves at least two of your closest girl friends, a couple bottles of a great chardonnay and a strong merlot, all memorabilia (and let me add there are tears and friends reassuring you they weren’t great times), a metal garbage can and that pack of matches you saved from your first date.

In the wake of a bad date, for me, it’s often scrubbing off any essence of that person from your skin. The smell of their cologne often leads to the perfect first date outfit being washed at least twice, a hot shower that leaves my skin tinged with a bit of pink and then scrubbing off the walls. It also goes towards a little ritualistic self grooming, where I take off the nail polish (and put it in the drawer, never to be used again - or until I forget that I wore it on such an occasion), repaint and then do a little girly facial thing and sit with a mud mask on and watch my favorite show, in this instance - Heroes.

The bad thing about this right now is that it wasn't a bad date - it was a bad person. I sit here and my phone is still beeping with text messages in which he advises me that he's honored to be blog worthy (myspace, not here) followed by a couple more insults. I've even gotten hang ups from 262 area codes that I don't recognize. I hate not being able to even pick up my phone in hopes of not hearing in person what a slut, cunt, bitch I am from a guy that's only known me for a week.

My mask is dry, I washed it off. My nerves are still rattled as I wait to see who Claire's dad is (my assumption, Nathan Petrelli and I'm right ...) and silence my phone when the 262 comes up.

I call #1, my support unit who is in a bad mood and tells me that I get what I paid for. I didn't go with my gut, these are the consequences. I tell him that he's some friend ... hang up, have a smoke in the cold where I fear if I finish the cigarette my finger might just fall off since it's -13.

I bundled up in my robe and finished my last sip of wine and applied just one more coat of clear polish. I think long and hard about relationships and if I should really enjoy another hiatus.

Just as Scrubs is finishing up the last few minutes I indulge in the last point of my ritual, spritzing my bed with girly smelling body spray and I kiss the bumpkin on his head and curl under the sheets because it's ironically so cold - just like the Flower Guy.

Before my eye lids are too heavy to stay open I realize that a hiatus might feel like the right move but I can't give up so easily. I put my phone on silent just in case, and I slumber off to sleep.