Lose a Fatty

(This post isn't funny.) When you've been excised suddenly from someone's life — by four independent clauses strung together in a comma-spliced sentence sent stealthily through email — you will not know what to do. You will never be fine. You tell unwitting baristas and waitresses and clerks that you were viciously dumped. You watch a lot of baseball. You try to understand this new emptiness in your life that didn't exist the day before. You trade eating for crying. You call your mom all the time. You text your friends all the time. You feel bad for bothering the universe and everyone in it with your insignificance. You give yourself pep talks, remind yourself that one day you will look back on this shitstorm of awfulness and view it as the point where you started doing the things that mattered most to you. You think about what just mattered most to you yesterday. You cry. You hurt. You receive messages, calls. You make some social plans. You feel hands

I woke up on Monday morning to learn that after more than five years, my relationship had ended. I learned this via email. Four independent clauses strung together in one comma-spliced sentence. No "I'm sorry." No "Thanks it's been swell." No "I wish you all the best." Just some nonsense about needing more time to himself revealed — upon some shameful e-stalking on my part — to really mean that he wants to spend more time building shit with Legos and hanging out with other people who also build shit with Legos. It's tragic and awful and ohmygodwhodoesthattosomeone??? But that's not the point of this story. The point of this story is what's happening in my lady parts. Lest you be tempted to stop reading because you don't want to know about my sex life, let me assure you that this isn't about that at all. And anyway, right now I'm just not in the mood. No, what seems to be occurring is that my vajayjay has become,