In this week’s story, a woman gets dumped by a fling after a romantic getaway and starts looking for someone to replace him: 29, single, Brooklyn.
DAY ONE
7:04 a.m. I wake up at this exact time pretty much every day. I’m single with no kids and I work from home, so there’s no reason not to sleep later, but it’s what my body wants. I do what I always do: pee, drink a ton of water, and make coffee that I drink while checking my phone.
1 p.m. I’m a TV writer, and right now I’m staffed on a show that hasn’t aired yet. Our writers room is on Zoom, and most people are based in L.A., so it starts late and ends late. The showrunner does not fuck around, and when we’re working, we’re really working. On my workdays, I barely leave my desk. Today that’s a very good thing since I’m quite anxious that P hasn’t contacted me in two days.
P is a guy I’ve been sleeping with for about six months. It’s technically an “affair” since P lives with his girlfriend of a decade, but it also didn’t feel that sinister to me since they haven’t had sex in several years. P says she’s been severely depressed for half a decade and they barely speak when they’re both home. They sleep in the same bed but without any physical touching. He’s afraid to break up with her until she’s in the kind of treatment she needs. It’s complicated and not my story to tell, but all to say, the P affair felt — and feels — morally okay for me. It was also the best sex of my life. Maybe none of that matters since he hasn’t texted since we got back from Austin — I had to travel for a work trip and P came along, and we fucked around the clock, had the best time. Then P got COVID and was pretty sick, so we couldn’t fly home together.
5 p.m. As I try to focus on work, my mind spirals. Is P dead? Is there a chance he’s still in Austin? To be fair, I’ve only texted twice and called him once. I don’t want to seem like I’m obsessing. Until this trip, we were meeting up about once every two weeks. Dinner and sex at my place. I was catching feelings, and I thought he was too, but we weren’t monogamous and never talked about getting more serious. I liked him though!
9 p.m. My workday ends at 6 p.m. L.A. time. I feel spent. I go to grab some Mexican food at a local restaurant, sit at the bar with a margarita and a burrito, and just unwind.
11 p.m. Can’t keep my eyes open while watching reality TV, so I call it a night.
DAY TWO
7:04 a.m. Rise and shine.
10 a.m. After a two-hour walk listening to podcasts, my legs are aching. I grab a coffee and a croissant and sit at the Dumbo waterfront. P lives right across the water. I decide to call him one last time.
10:10 a.m. He picks up! It’s pretty awkward at first. Basically, he says he got super-sick in Austin, almost had to be hospitalized, and had to call his girlfriend to explain where he was and why he was there. (Initially, he had told her he was visiting friends in Austin, but he had to confess the truth since there was a chance she’d need to fly there and be with him.) It turned out to be pneumonia and COVID, or something like that, and he didn’t end up in the hospital, nor did he end up dying, but he did tell his girlfriend about me. She didn’t seem to care too much — according to P, she was basically like, “I’ve been a shell of myself. I’m not surprised you went elsewhere to feel loved and desired.” But where they left it is that he’d stop seeing me and they’d focus on getting their love story back on track. It’s a lot to hear and process.
11 a.m. We end the call with me saying, “So this is good-bye?” An unexpected tear falls down my cheek. I really liked him. I’ll miss the sex. I always knew it wasn’t sustainable, but I was living in the moment. He says, “This is good-bye.” Fuck! Harsh! But okay, what can I do?
3 p.m. Luckily, the show I’m writing for involves some love and sex, so at least I can channel some of these feelings into my work, but I’m not going to lie, I’m feeling pretty low and would rather crawl into bed than be part of a creative team today.
9 p.m. When work is done, I order some sushi and pour myself a glass of wine. What I should do is swipe around the apps for a few hours, but instead I just drink more wine and watch more bad TV. It’s that kind of night.
11 p.m. I take out my vibrator and try not to think about P fucking me, but it’s where my sick mind wants to go. It makes me feel even more disappointed that I’ll never see him again.
DAY THREE
7:04 a.m. How am I going to get out of this funk? I’m trying to think about anyone in my life I’m interested in. Though P and I weren’t exclusive, I liked him so much that I shut down any other romantic interests when we started sleeping together a few months ago. I’m a one-man woman, what can I say? I wish I weren’t!
10 a.m. There is another writer in the writers’ room who I’m curious about. He lives in L.A., and he’s worked on some of my favorite shows. When we’ve shared about our personal lives, he’s talked about being in an open relationship.
1 p.m. I send him a DM just before we get started for the day to say I’m coming to L.A. in a few weeks (true) and we should grab a drink. I keep it really friend vibe-y. He writes back that he’d love that and he always thought his girlfriend would love me since she’s read my work and is a fan and aspiring writer, etc. Okay, I don’t want to impress or inspire his girlfriend. Nor do I want to fuck her, if that’s where he was going. I put this flirtation on the back burner.
5 p.m. Quick break from the computer to run a few errands. I go to the UPS store, Trader Joe’s, and CVS. That is the extent of my personal life on busy days like this.
9 p.m. I’m back at the Mexican restaurant, marg in hand. I text P, because I have nothing left to lose: “I miss fucking you.” I’m just being honest!
9:15 p.m. P writes back, “I miss it too.” I’m instantly wet. “What do we do about it?” He does not respond to that. Damn!
11 p.m. Make myself go to bed. He’s an early bird, so I won’t hear from him again tonight.
DAY FOUR
9 a.m. I work on some travel plans this morning. My family lives in Colorado and I want to book my Thanksgiving and Christmas flights. Every year when I do this, I’m like, “I won’t be alone for the holidays next year!” And yet, here I am. Alone! I’m only 29, so it’s okay, but the problem is that I love men who are unavailable, either emotionally or romantically. I like clandestine entanglements. I like being the sexy other woman. It’s been this way for a long time. I’ve had two serious, more conventional relationships, in college and in my early 20s. I was bored to death with both of them. I cheated on both of them. I dumped both of them. Not sure what to do with my life, honestly, but I know I have to book these tickets, so I focus on that.
11 a.m. I swipe around a little while as I wait for the workday to start. It’s seriously fucking impossible to find an attractive real human on these sites. I see approximately zero men who excite me.
1 p.m. My showrunner immediately shuts down an idea I present, and I feel embarrassed. Sometimes I can take rejection in these situations; sometimes I get wounded. You need thick skin to work in TV, and I think mine is thicker than most, but you also need to remain raw and human. It’s tricky! I promise myself that when I’m a showrunner someday, I’ll be more sensitive.
4 p.m. My friend invites me to a party tomorrow. It sounds pretty cool, big house party at a nice place in Greenpoint. Something to look forward to.
9 p.m. I crank at work all day and feel very tired by the end of it.
10 p.m. Walk around the neighborhood just to move my body. Then head home for sleep.
DAY FIVE
10 a.m. I have a morning massage at a local spa with my guy. I see him once a week. It’s not cheap, but it’s my only self-care.
11:30 a.m. Leave the spa and feel reinvigorated. It’s Friday. TGIF.
9 p.m. I can’t get off my work Zoom fast enough because I want to shower and head to this party. I decide to Uber there, which I never do because Uber costs a fortune and also I get carsick in every single one, but I’m ready to party my face off and can’t wait another second.
10 p.m. I find my friend V, and we grab a drink. It’s catered, which is so fancy, but I don’t understand who’s actually hosting it. I don’t even know whose house we’re at. V explains that it belongs to some very rich couple who I actually kind of know from the industry — they’re 30 and trust-fund babies. Anyway, the Champagne is flowing and the men are hot.
11 p.m. I’m talking to one guy and enjoying him, but then he offers me cocaine, which I find to be a huge turn-off. I walk away.
11:30 p.m. I’m getting tired. The crowd is actually pretty douchey. I miss P. I miss his dick. I force myself not to text him, but it all makes me feel a bit sad, so I decide to go home. V has another party to go to, so we leave together. I don’t want to pay for an Uber, but my apartment is on the way to her party, so she gives me a ride home in hers.
DAY SIX
7:04 a.m. Motherfucker. Even on the weekends. Even with a hangover. Why can’t I sleep late?
10 a.m. I take another long walk around Brooklyn since I have a few days of podcasts to catch up on.
2 p.m. Head to a food market in Dumbo to grab lunch and maybe flirt a little, but it’s literally all tourists.
4 p.m. I go to check out a local gym. Maybe I’ll join. Maybe there are cute guys there. But the gym tour is so long and boring, I regret ever showing up.
7 p.m. I meet a few girlfriends for a glass of wine in Red Hook. One of my friends wants to set me up with her brother, M, who just moved here from L.A. and works in film. She shows me his picture: He’s gorgeous. Oh my goodness, I want this man. She said he’s getting divorced (hot) and it might take a beat. I told her to connect us. This is just the mysterious liaison I need right now.
10 p.m. Everyone went their own way and I’m home doing a deep Google of M. Something inside me says he’s going to be my next boyfriend. I text my friend a reminder to introduce us and she says, “I will tomorrow!” I can’t wait!
DAY SEVEN
7:04 a.m. Ridiculous.
10 a.m. I buy an audiobook and go on a two-hour walk listening to it.
1 p.m. I’m sort of obsessing over meeting M, the divorced brother. I don’t want to ask my friend to introduce us again, because I’ll sound desperate.
5 p.m. I do a little work on my show so that I’m ultraprepared for tomorrow. I’m having a slight case of the Sunday blues, but it’s okay. I guess I just feel lonely.
9 p.m. P texts! “What does your week look like?” I mean. I can’t say I don’t love the text, but what is wrong with this man? What does he want from me? I guess the answer is “just sex,” but didn’t he literally just dump me? It takes all my inner strength, but I don’t write back. I’ll give it a beat and respond tomorrow.
11 p.m. Instead of responding to P, I take a bath and put the showerhead on my pussy. I imagine fucking M, the brother … and soon I come. I get out of the bath and try to fall asleep.
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