Hi, my name is Maude, and I spend Sunday nights crying on my kitchen floor. How’s that for an introduction? Unfortunately for me, it’s true. I can make it the whole week without a single tear. Sure, I’m eating inordinate amounts of ice cream, proving that I’m a total sad-sack stereotype, and true, I can’t listen to my iPod without wanting to crack open a beer, but still, I can make it through the week. Then Sunday night comes, and I’m so exhausted after yet another weekend of over-compensating by running around New York and drinking enough that come 2 a.m. I find myself asking inanimate objects, like bike skeletons left on the street, “Are you my boyfriend?” But by Sunday I give up searching and just end up mopping the kitchen floor with my tears.
As far as I can tell, this weekly crying session has no positive benefit—it’s entirely ineffective as a cleaning mechanism (only about a cheek-sized area actually gets clean), freaks out my cat (and possibly my upstairs neighbors, since I tend not to suffer in silence), and reminds me every week that, while it’s been five months and counting since I was dumped, I’m still not over my ex.To be fair, he is a really hard one to get over. He is handsome in an unassuming way, with very dramatic eyebrows (which turn bright blonde after too much exposure to the sun) and the kind of manly strength that I’ve always been drawn to. He is one of those talented types who can make you laugh hysterically over some gumbo he cooked right after installing his own electrical wiring in his new studio. See? There I go, gushing over him like he’s still mine, and he’s definitely not. But then again, we did date for five years, went on vacations together, cooked Thanksgiving feasts, traveled to Paris, and dreamed about our future house, so I think I’m allowed a little nostalgia, right?
Anyways, since we broke up I’ve gotten a ton of advice. Date someone else. Go back to school. Give yourself a month for every year you dated. Here, drink this. But none of it seems to be working, because without fail every Sunday night I start to cry and can’t stop until I collapse in exhaustion. Don’t get me wrong, though. My life isn’t all bad—it seems like my career is finally taking a turn for the better, I just moved into a great new apartment (which, if you are currently attempting a life in New York, you know is no small feat), my friends are some of the wildest, most wonderful people in the world, and late last night I jumped into the ocean on a whim. But I just can’t seem to get over the idea that my ex was “the one,” and now my interactions with him will be limited to cross-party awkward looks and returning sweaters he left at my place. It’s depressing, to say the least.
That is why I’m here doing two things I thought I’d never do—using a self-help book (The Frisky 30-Day Breakup Guide) and blogging. At first I was nervous that blogging about what a mess I am would be tantamount to tattooing on my internet forehead “un-date-able.” But then I realized that if I am ever going to break out of this rut, the truth is, I need ALL the help I can get. So, for the next 30 days I will be living by the book and documenting my experiences here via blog. Admittedly, I’m terrified of doing this in such a public forum, but I guess that’s the way it goes, and hey, maybe you can help me out by giving me some advice or something. My neighbors and my cat will thank you later.
For the next month, Maude will be road-testing our new book, The Frisky 30-Day Breakup Guide, written by Jamie Beckman, documenting her experience along the way. For more information on the book (including where to get your own copy!), click here!