While I do miss Re-Boyfriend, I also feel that his business trip has been something of a wellness retreat for me.

In his absence, I have been to the gym two days in a row, making a total of three times that I have visited the institution. 66.67% of the times I have been to the gym, Re-Boyfriend has not been in the country.

I sleep every night, for a minimum of 7 hours, waking only to roll over and think “Mmmmm…sleep,” with the exception of last night when I woke up and thought “I have to pee, I’m fucking cold and where the hell are my pants.” Still, at no point have I thought “ahhhhh, fuck you you fucking fucker, snoreaoskjdalksj,” and felt compelled to beat the pillow beside me, proving that my rage at Re-Boyfriend when he snores is, in fact, due to his snoring and not some obscure sleep disorder. (An idea that he actually suggested.)

I smoke, at most, a cigarette a day and sometimes go a full twenty-four hours without even thinking of nicotine.

Oddly, I have also stopped buying celebrity weeklies and begun to read literary novels with a zeal I have not displayed since college when I discovered style magazines and gossip are much better remedies for hangovers.

All in all, I feel like I am a happier, more well-adjusted person.

I told all this to my roommate. She said I was going to the gym because I missed sex and that one more week of sobriety and clean-living would lead to a breakdown involving the chugging of vodka while frantically chain-smoking and flipping through the pages of Star.

She is probably right.