I’m ashamed to say how quickly I regretted my decision. Not to turn everything off. That was, I felt pretty solidly, a good thing. Funny though, not twenty minutes into the big turn off I started really really missing Rick. Rick who could turn his feelings on and off like a tap. Rick who, when I said I was worried we might not be relationship compatible, simply said, “okay, do you want to still be friends?” Rick who said he loved me and had for a long time less than forty days into the relationship, less than forty-eight days after he’d smiled goodbye to his wife as she left the house, then sat down and broke up with her via a type-written note he left on the kitchen table. That guy. Turning off my connection to the outside world made me so lonely and fearful that within twenty minutes I was itching to call him up and take it all back. Clearly I had made a mistake. But how would I contact him? I’d made very strict rules for myself that included no texting and phone only for emergencies. Though surely this empty feeling warranted some kind of emergency treatment, right?
I sat back on the bed and stared at the wall, trapped within the stupid rules I’d made for myself, within the desire not to fail twenty minutes in, within the knowledge that I probably shouldn’t call him anyway.
My eyes jerked around the room like they were anchored to my skull with thick rubber bands, searching for something to fixate on. I thought about the big bottle of fancy gin on the kitchen counter. Self-medication in its most basic form. Instead I took a handful of ibuprofen to deaden the growing pressure behind my forehead. It was going to be a long week.