my lorazepam says i’m happy for you

“We’ll never be the same, never feel this way again
I’d give you anything but you want pain

 little water please, I taste you all over my teeth…”
-Jimmy Eat World, Just Tonight…

“She’ll break your heart like she broke mine
bipolar, baby, make up your mind…”

-Forever the Sickest Kids, Bipolar, Baby

Wednesday at work, I had lunch with work girlfriend (WG) as we tend to do when we work the same shift.  Everything was fine and well until we clocked in to go back to work and a coworker walked toward us.  The coworker pointed to WG’s hands and said, “Why are you hiding that?”

I looked over to see what the coworker was talking about and WG, who conveniently had her left hand covered with her right, uncovered lefty and held it up.

The coworker looked at me and said, “He did a good job, didn’t he?”

Confused, I didn’t reply.  I just looked at WG.  She held her left hand closer to me and pointed to a shiny silver ring.

“What’s…that?” I asked, still confused.

“I’m engaged,” WG said.

And my reaction went a little something like this:

“Da fuck?”

“You’re joking,” I said.

She smiled.  “No.  No, I am.”

I looked at the other coworker.  “Is she really engaged?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding.

“I..I..uh, what?   Since when?”

“Sunday.”

My breath escaped me.  “How many people know?”

“Um.  A lot.”

My shoulders slumped.  She could have just punched me in the dick.

“But I haven’t put it on Facebook yet so it’s not really official.”

“Is this real life?”

I turned around and walked away.

Later on, she came up to me and smiled.  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  I mean, it’s cool that you’re engaged and all.  Congrats, I guess.  But I don’t know why you didn’t tell me.”

“I felt weird telling you.”

“So, you were just gonna keep it from me until when?  You threw the bouquet in my face?  Until I saw it unveiled on Facebook?”

“No.  I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“It’s not something you work into a conversation,” I said.  “It’s a conversation starter.  Like, ‘Hey, guess what.  I’m engaged!’  It’s not that hard.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Well, it’s a pretty ring,” I said as I watched her admire it under the florescent lights.  It light up in a thousand sparkles.  “He did do a good job.”

“Thanks.”

I spent the rest of the day with a heavy feeling in my chest.  It was mostly from her concealment but also from her being engaged.  It was a two fold feeling.  Although we were just good acquaintances, maybe somewhere deep down inside, I thought maybe there was a chance she might have liked me and an even smaller chance she might one day tell me or try to make something happen.  But the engagement squashed that.   And also because I think I might have liked her, but not in the way you might think.

Long time readers will know I haven’t done the whole “friend’ thing in years now but she was making me change my mind.  But now that she’s getting married, even if not for a while, I’m going to lose her to her soon-to-be husband.  Things change when you get married.  I know it’ll hurt whatever thing we have now.  On the cusp of feeling like I found a friend again and it’ll be taken away in time.

I’m also pretty sure she’s going to quit as soon as things get more finalized, leaving me with a bunch of idiots to deal with at work.  She hates her job as much as I do and since her boyfri….fiance makes a good amount of money, she’ll probably just let him support her.  The funny thing is we’ve talked about how girls here lay around and pop out kids while their husbands work offshore and bring in all the money and we both agreed it was a cop out.  So, that’s most likely what she’s gonna do.  As much as it pisses me off, I can’t really blame anyone for going that route.  If I could find a fine sugar mama to support my fat, lazy ass, I’d be all over it.

Imagine how awkward the wedding will be.  I’d rather not go but I also don’t want to be rude.  Maybe I can actually ask to work on the day of the nuptials so I can use that as an excuse.  But if I can’t, I’ll just sit in the back, rocking a beard and bow tie and play a zombie shooting game on my phone until it’s over.  And when everyone gets up and claps, I’ll be all:

“My Lorazepam says I’m happy for you…”

I should bring a girl, too.  You know, to really stick it to her.  But as she floats past, she probably won’t even look my way, slipping out from under the pressure of obstacles, leaving me to bear the brunt of it all.

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