Happiness writes in white

I've been doing a lot of 'going out' lately, and not just in a vengeful, determined way but sometimes even in a genuinely happy way, too. Being miserable was fun for a while, but there's only so much sulking you can do before your head falls off.

The trouble is, I've never really felt like writing much about Adventures in the Pub, so anytime I've wanted to blonk recently it's been during those dark moments that snuck up on me unexpectedly — giving my friends, family, Bono, and everybody else who reads my blog the impression that I'm perpetually glum. "Happiness writes in white," nods Manus sagely, quoting some important historical figure and summing up everything I've been trying to explain.

Last night I bumped into my friend's Best Gay Friend, Shane, who I haven't seen since before the break-up, and he flutters love and attention all over me, spinning me round to admire my 'new look' and informing me the word on the street is that I've gotten over it all very quickly. Really? That's the rumour? Oh, I like that! I am sassy and independent and Beyoncé would be proud — if only she'd call up for a chat and a cup of tea. But I guess it's all because I've been 'having fun'? I've been taking great pleasure in dressing up in my new clothes — what recession? — wearing hairstyles that are way too young for me — 'bunches'; how old am I, three? — then going out, rediscovering my sense of humour, and piling it onto anybody who's willing to listen. I've been finding myself way too funny lately: there's great mileage to be had out of getting dumped, and suddenly I understand why stand-up comics are all sad losers too.

My ex winces when I crack jokes about our split, especially when I refer to it as him dumping me, but overall he's glad to see me being pissy rather than sad. We meet up every so often, sometimes to catch up over dinner and sometimes just to sort out practical stuff — dividing up our old life into two parts — and it's nice to see each other, even if it's just so we can breathe a sigh of relief and think okay, this doesn't have to be our future anymore. Whenever we meet I have my usual weight of shopping bags with me, and he notes that I must be enjoying having my own money again. Yes, I nod, I am. I work very hard these days, putting long, long hours into this new career that I landed, and I intend to spend every last cent of it. I was never really that into shopping, but now all of a sudden I understand. There's something incredibly satisfying about walking into a room full of stuff and saying I want that, I want that, and I want that, and then leaving again with precisely those things. Getting exactly what you want is very therapeutic after being dumped, I think.