Catharsis is...

... When your ex finally takes two seconds to move you from the coveted #1 friend spot on their social networking page of choice. Not that this sort of thing should really matter at all, considering how the person in question never bothered to update their status to "in a relationship" during the course of said affiliation. Ah, and, lest I forget, the lies regarding his age and height are still ever present. From the perspective of someone who stands just shy of 66 inches, you, sir, are still short (bad pun intended) of the 68 you claim. The real catharsis won't come until I'm 100% deleted as a friend, but somehow I've escaped that fate for the moment.

This begs the question, however, of why things like one's status should matter. Have we become so mindlessly sucked into our virtual worlds that the health of our relationships depends on a click within a check box? I can't say that I find myself falling victim to such an extreme, but I would much prefer that someone who's in a relationship say so rather than not. Moving to the next previous ex, this was his major flaw--honesty in general, that is, and not just online. One thing I can't stand is being cheated on, and god forbid that I ever wind up as the "other woman" without knowing it. I hate to say that it's happened before, but it has. But I digress.

Now that most of us are thoroughly indoctrinated into the social networking world and therefore dependent on the accuracy of the information contained within, the least people can to is to not lie about the big-ticket items. Fudging on height and age isn't as reprehensible as doing the same regarding one's eligibility status, unless we're talking someone who claims to be six feet tall and isn't even close to that in a good pair of heels or someone who knocks 5-10 years off of their age because they want to target a younger demographic. It all comes out in the wash, ladies and gents, when you meet for that first fateful time. I gave the short fella credit, but in the end, it just didn't work. Nobody's fault, just plain old incompatibility.

Tomorrow I sign the lease on my lovely place in Waltham, a return that's been 5 years in the making. I had no idea that the Watch City would be the center of my universe. This calls for meatballs of the Swedish variety. Nothing like some good gravy to cleanse the mind and body while I browse the aisles of a certain retailer on the lookout for a brand-new bedroom...