The following is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DAY ONE: Hit him.
Cry. Punch the wall. Cry some more. Throw out everything that even remotely
reminds you of him. Wish you could move apartments. Delete him from Facebook. Cry
again. Finally curl up on the couch with a blanket and watch 8 episodes of 30 Rock back-to-back, feeling sick.
Sleep poorly. Wake up often.
DAY TWO: Cry
again. Get mad. Write an angry letter and shred it. Cry again. Tell all your
friends he’s an asshole. Add, “that fucker” every time you say his name. Run 3
miles. Delete all of his pictures and block his email. Look up “How to get over
someone” online and read obsessively.
DAY THREE: Step
back. Analyze. Try to understand his point of view. Fail. Sing along loudly with
Ani DiFranco’s “Untouchable Face” on repeat at the highest volume possible.
DAY FOUR: Dye
your hair. Rearrange your living room. Go
for a walk. Write poetry. Get a text from him: Can we talk? Not yet.
DAY FIVE: Talk
for an hour. Listen to his explanation. Realize you misunderstood some things. Realize
you both fucked up. Realize that’s still no excuse. Express regret that it
didn’t work out. Mention the possibility of being friends again sometime in the
future. Say goodbye. Hang up. Stare blankly at your phone.
DAY SEVEN: Avoid all
romantic music. Hit “skip”
constantly on iTunes and Pandora. Have a constant “him-him-him” feed in the
back of your mind. Hash and rehash what happened. Watch a movie and think, “That
actor looks like him . . . ”
DAY EIGHT: Week
One. You’re biting your nails again.
DAY ELEVEN: Go
out with girlfriends. Drink. Almost text him. Don’t. Congratulate yourself on
your self-control.
DAY TWELVE: Relapse.
Talk about him with mutual friends. Miss him suddenly, physically, painfully. Keep
it together until the door closes after them. Fall sobbing on the floor. Listen
to the Helio Sequence sing “Lately” three times. Put “buy tissue” on your
shopping list.
DAY FOURTEEN: Catch
up with an old friend. Relive the situation. See where you went wrong. See
where he went wrong. Get indignantly angry again at the whole thing.
DAY FIFTEEN: Week
Two. Think mean thoughts. “My life without him is better than my life with
him.” “I might never want to be
friends again.” Flip off any car you see with the license plate of the state
he’s from.
DAY SIXTEEN: Listen
to “Me Voy” by Julieta Venegas over and over again. Skip “Limón y Sal.” Fantasize about sending him a mix CD in the mail. Ruin, The Pierces. The Rat,
The Walkmen. Immediately reject that idea. Promise yourself this is the last
time you get so one-sidedly crazy about someone. Promise. Promise. Promise.
DAY SEVENTEEN: Start
getting tired of being angry and hurt. Starting looking objectively at the
situation. Realize that not being together is best in the long run. Know that a
better future awaits.
DAY EIGHTEEN: He
accidentally calls. You don’t flip out. Not too much.
DAY NINETEEN: You’re
both on a Facebook group message. See his name. Stay calm.
DAY TWENTY-TWO: Week
Three. Drive past his apartment complex on the way to another friend’s house. Don't
pay attention to where the turn-off is. Don’t even realize.
DAY TWENTY-THREE: Suppose
it’s not going to take 31 days after all. Click, “Post.”
