I spent today at home, sitting in a chair playing Fifa Soccer '06 and X-Men Legends 2; I knew it was coming. Just like yesterday, I should probably say, the feeling was the same. Right before the call and message were received I had the same feeling, not more than fifteen minutes beforehand.

My sister and her friend had had a sleep-over the night before, and they were excited to have the day off to celebrate Naw-Ruz, the Persian/Bahai New Year. They woke me up early enough with explosions of fire and shouting emanating from the surround sound setup in the family room, directly below me. I used to be able to sleep through similar sounds, and the sound of a drunk pounding on a random door in the night, hoping it was his and he could get in. But I tried to avoid the loudness thereafter, and was bothered regularly by the neighbors' downstair parties not more than a month and half ago, where I'd wake up and have to turn the heater back on before breakfast. The thumping basslines only half muffled by the ergonomic pillow I slept on. I made my way down the steps to my own sounds, and plopped a slice of bread in the toaster to the beat of the John Williams-esque soundtrack. Walking over with a tub of margarine in one hand, a knife in the other my sister and her friend were fixed on the screen.

Half past noon rolled up and I was getting out of the shower to the foot massage from downstairs. I had missed Shannon's call to give me directions and called him back, jotting down the address into mapquest.

My gas gauge was nearing empty, but I decided to wait until my return home to fill up again as I compensated for the howl that struck my car, intent on me riding up onto the shoulder and the grass. The wind hadn't really stopped since Saturday, and could be heard upstairs during the Naw-Ruz program; shaking glass and concrete, creating tones. I had noticed a semi with its load relatively unfastened in front of me, and about four cars in a line to my left. I pictured the bags of soil coming loose and crashing into the hood of my car, causing a comma for the car and me alike. For some reason I almost always picture myself in a comma or as a vegetable when in the hospital.

Fifteen minutes later there was a rumbling in my pocket and something vibrating along my spine and the tread that keeps me together. "...I've been in an accident and my back's hurt pretty bad...didn't tell Shirin...hospital" I had never taken a high-speed u-turn like that in my life, fishtail and all.

Today was different, however. Today, I didn't even feel the gusts outside. Instead the constant welling up, and calming down in my eyes. Like leaks fixed by an overactive fix-it man in gray overalls and a red shirt beneath with a cloudy, unknown face. I didn't do much of anything. Sat, mashed buttons, typed keys, took shower. It was all delayed by something internal. Something I wasn't quite sure of. I knew it was something, something off, but I didn't feel the strength to lift that figurative finger and place it on anything. Turns out I got that call around five o'clock. "...we made an offer to somebody else..." didn't feel the way it was supposed to. Normally hearing news like this does little to mimic jilting, but this time I felt a drop. A fall with several hands coated in petroleum jelly. There was a splat, I heard, in the distance, and I focused on the game at hand.

5-0 Spain felt just like a jilt.