Denial? Surprise!

I think they should rename the "Denial" stage of grief as "Surprise!"  As in:

"What do you mean my parakeet died last week and I put it in a kleenex box along with some food and its favorite toys and buried it in the backyard?"

OR

"What do you mean I broke up with my boyfriend of 2.25 years after three months of agonizing over the fact that I knew we had to break up?"

Because it comes back at you like a slap.  What?  REALLY?!  As if you never knew it before.  That rush of breath out of you.  My parakeet's GONE?!?!?

But by now I am better.  Like I said, three months of agonizing over it.  That got me quite a ways down the recovery road though it was sobby-soggy-sorry mess inside it.

Here is some more evidence of my progress:

1. I have been rotating through former loves and lusts in my dreams.  Re-dating, re-romancing, re-admiring.  RE-ADMIRING.

2. I woke up two days ago dancing and singing after a dream that I probably can't explain but that was basically like passing through a gateway.

3. In a further feat of you're-too-skinny heroism, I dismantled the GIGANTIC wardrobe that came with my apartment that was crowding my bedroom and put it in the basement.  Particle board.  IT WAS HEAVY.  I AM BAD ASS.  And the whole time I was saying to myself, "I'm just going to get this GIGANTIC THING out of my LIFE and COPE WITH IT LATER."  So much of what we do is a symbol for something we feel.

THE GIGANTIC THING I JUST GOT OUT OF MY LIFE WHOSE REMOVAL I WILL COPE WITH LATER

4. I just listened to "I Will Always Love You" on the radio and teared up in admiration of Whitney's beautiful voice.  That's right.  Just Whitney.  This time, anyway.

(I don't have a parakeet.  Anymore.  No really, I don't have a parakeet.  Anymore.)