365

364 days ago, I was in love.

I was in love with this man named Gregg. Before him, I never thought I was in love with Jon, and even though Jon was an ass, I put up with him anyway. And because he was an ass, I thought I was in love with Gregg - a man who wasn't ashamed to hold my hand in public, who would absentmindly rub my back while we watched Saturday Night Live, who loved nothing more to sit in coffeeshops with me on Friday nights and watch the cars drive up and down 71st street in Tulsa.

I opened up to Gregg. I told him everything about me, and I never held back. Any emotions I was feeling, any thoughts that I had, I shared with him because that's what I thought you did when you were in love. I have been taught to always be open, never let the person you're with stumble upon a nasty surprise, and I wanted Gregg to never have any surprises.

Because I did this, opened up, showed him everything I had, let him pick at my brain and my heart, take me apart like the engineer he was, so that he could see how I worked - this is why 365 days ago, I had my heart broken.

Like any cheesy romantic movie where the heroine goes through a breakup, I curled up in bed, refusing to come out. I cried until I was dehydrated. I cried until I threw up. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore, and then my shoulders just heaved with sobs.

(It is kind of embarrassing to think about how crushed I was then).

My friends, two girls that I have known since before they took their first steps, and my brother's wife crawled into bed with me, each one sitting on a corner. They took turns trying to cheer me up, coax me out of my cave, to help me see that it wasn't the end of the world.

I finally got up, got dressed, and I shot off some fireworks, then promptly got back into bed.


If you had told me 365 days ago that in 365 days I would be estatic, I would have punched you in the ovaries. It's hard being someone who is always open. I never doubt that the person left me because he just didn't KNOW me, didn't know who I was. Instead, I always doubt that I told too much. I was afraid that I would never find anyone who would take everything about me, all of the bad and the good, and still look at me and say, "Man, I love this woman."

"Gah, she has horrible mood swings when she's PMSing. GOD, I love this woman."

"She fights dirty and yells and slams the door when she's angry. MAN, could I love her anymore than I do right now?"

"Sometimes she's insecure, but I want to be with her for the rest of my life."


Once Gregg and I were driving to his mom's house. I don't even remember the conversation, only that part way through it he said something silly, and I ruffled his hair and said, "Awww, thank goodness you're pretty." He laughed it off, but that was something that he threw back in my face when he was leaving me.

When Mat was here a month ago, he said something stupid as well, and instinctively I reached out, ruffled his brown hair, and said, "That's why God made you so pretty, Mat."

For a second I paused, realizing what I had said.

Mat turned to me, winked, and in a high pitched voice said, "Why yes, I AM very pretty, thank you for noticing."


Then he leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and said, "Comments like those? That's one of the reasons why I love you."