Do you ever just get sad?  I don’t mean a little down or vaguely depressed or melancholy.  I mean overwhelming, all-consuming, non-stop edge-of-tears sad?  That very special sadness that comes from a universal pileup of never-ending  negatives that land on your heart and refuse to budge until they have sucked out every last morsel of positive-Pollyanna shit you thought you possessed?

I mean, c’mon – you’ve done the work.  You’ve read the books.  You have been enlightened by the law of attraction and gratitude and vibes and ‘do unto others’ and you’ve actually really tried to subscribe and then all of a sudden maybe you’re tired or just lonely and you’re not even sure what for and BAM – you’re wallowing in non-stop-edge-of-tears sad.

So you think about calling up a girlfriend.  Yes, one of those special ones who knows how to cheerlead the hell out of you until you’re not only smiling again but thinking that maybe hell yeah I do have a shot with George Clooney! I love those girlfriends.

But you already know how that phone call will play out.  And this sadness will not be so easily distracted.  Which for some reason diminishes even George’s considerable charm.

So you think about calling your ex.  Because damn, there is still some love there and he sure as shootin’ doesn’t want you all weepy and snotty and morose (does he?).  Problem is he never quite understood how or why you get this way in the first place, he never knew what to do about you when you got this way and the fact that you have even the slightest potential of getting this way right flipping now, five weeks post breakup, is no doubt reason enough for the happy-single-dance he is currently enjoying.

So … you pour a second glass of wine.  Because damnit if you’re gonna have a cry it might as well be a fucking good one.  And we all know that wine will always facilitate that.

1^st glass – I feel funny.

2^nd glass – I feel sexy .

3^rd glass – I am invincible.

4^th glass – I am a snotty crying mess on the kitchen floor.

This is usually how it goes except when you’re already sad … even sober.  Then you’re allowed to fast forward to stage 4 after glass 1.

So there you are, holding off on damn-the-torpedoes blubbery but still at a point where you’re  about to check the pantry for another box of Kleenex justincase and … the doorbell rings.

No, it’s not Prince Charming.  It’s not my best friend and it’s not my ex, it’s not someone trying to sell me cheaper heat and it’s not someone trying to save my soul.

It’s a lovely girl who owns a flower shop in my little town and,  knowing that I have just returned from a long, exhausting trip, she has decided that I should have tulips – my favorite – to welcome me home.  Two beautiful bouquets of tulips. White and yellow.

Please understand – we are not really friends. We haven’t popped a cork (yet) and we haven’t shared a burger or snotty tears.  We have talked, sort of heart-to-heart, in her flower shop, mostly because it’s the only way I know how and she is thankfully amenable.

But somehow, in the grand scheme of this crazy mixed-up universe, she has brought me tulips at the exact moment that I was about to succumb to the world’s largest pity-party. Ever.

So now I am crying.  I’ve dived over the edge and am fully immersed in a flood of my own salt water.

But these are those crazy “happy tears” we were told about as children and never quite understood.  Crazy, happy “am I ever stupid” tears.

And it occurs to me.  It occurs to me that maybe, if we subscribe to the law of attraction and gratitude and vibes and ‘do unto others’ and maybe if we don’t just subscribe but we actually really mean it … well maybe the universe will actually step up and miraculously save our dumb ass on that one sadder-than-sad night that we think we’re about to actually drown.

Thanks, Universe.

And thank you, Nancy.