Leaving.

When did I last write? What was the last thing that happened? Toward the end, everything was a blur. A lot of it was running errands, doing laundry and packing. I needed a new suitcase because my duffle bag wasn’t going to cut it, and Tom helped me find this amazing duffle on rollers that expands to five feet high if I want it to or can fold flat…and it was less than $8! Got to love a bargain, people!

I think that was Monday. Then we went for German food. Tom had goulash, and I had trout. His goulash is nothing like what we call goulash at home, and it was delicious. Not that Mom’s goulash isn’t delicious (Hi, Mom!), but it’s completely different. This was thick and spicy and stew-like. Yum.

Tuesday we ran more errands and I met up with friends at the Bohemian Beer Garden in Astoria. I got to see Laura, Madrid, Chris and Riza, and it was fun to sit at talk with them over beers, fries and brats.

Wednesday…errands again, some more. I had been planning to just get to hang out with Tom my last few days in NYC, but things always take longer than I think they will. Oh, well. We did get to watch more Veronica Mars together (why did they cancel that show? WHY?) If you’ve never seen the show, Veronica is a smart girl detective. She’s guarded, sarcastic and very funny. The show is a bit edgier than the standard teen fare, although it is a little bit soapy. Yes, I know. You all came to this blog to read a review of a TV show.

That night we went out to eat. We went to an amazing Italian restaurant (Il De La or some similar combination of syllables). We ran into Dom and Becker in the street (they caught us making out on a street corner). They directed us to Il De La' (or whatever's) wine bar, where we sipped glasses of white wine while waiting for a table. Then, once we were seated we ordered amazing food. Tom got some scrumptious rabbit and I got some…I don’t even know. Something involving pork. I don’t even know, but it was really good. I ate until I was stuffed.

Then we watched the last of our Veronica discs while I packed the last of my things. And then we finally had a talk. Months ago, he told me he had doubts about our future. He wasn’t sure it would work out for us. But he never came out and said anything definite. I needed to hear him say it, so I asked, “Just to be clear, what happens after tomorrow?” He laughed and told me he was amazed we’d managed to avoid discussing it for so long.

“We just managed to make every day so mundane. I don’t think it will feel real for a few weeks.” But it was over. Deep down I knew it was, but it had to be said. I couldn’t let myself hang on to any hope if there was none. I cried and I felt so bad for doing it. I just cried and cried while he held me. Tom said he thought it would be easier for me because I’d be at the farm, then starting over completely in Virginia. He would have to be alone in the apartment we’ve been sharing for a month. At least he had a weekend-long bachelor party planned away from home that weekend. We agreed that this breakup would probably be the worst because no one really wanted to break up. There was no bad guy, no one to be mad at...unless he was mad at me for leaving. Unless I was mad at him for not wanting to try long-distance. But we're not mad, right?

There was a slight repeat performance of waterworks at the airport. I almost got Tom going, too, but he managed to hold off. Tom jokes that men are only allowed to feel victory, rage and pain, and men are only allowed to cry if a member of the immediate family dies, or his team loses the World Series -- and that applies to players, not fans. He’s very strict.

I am not strict, so I cried a little in the security line, and again on the plane and again in my bedroom at home. Mom and Dad knocked on my door, I don’t remember why. They asked what I was doing, and I told them I was reading (which I was). They pretended not to know I’d been crying, which was so ridiculous that I laughed when I saw my raccoon eyes in the mirror.

In reporting, this is what they call "burrying the lead." I started off with my average chronological list. It is everything that is wrong with my blog. It's bad storytelling, and yet...this way, it doesn't cut quite so deep. I buy a suitcase. I order trout. I watch TV. I leave my boyfriend. For a second I can pretend it's just one more thing on the list. I can pretend I will recover from it as easily as from any of the stupid little misadventures I write about.