To My Dearest Neighbor…

You will be ecstatic to know that I will be pretty much in solitary confinement for the next few weeks or months. First of all, you will not be disturbed by my animal screaming and moaning in the midst of your restful slumber for quite a long time. See, the man whose name you kept hearing over and over again in the middle of the night will be not be coming to my domicile anymore. I am gonna spare you the painful details but all I can tell you is that it’s not pretty. Let me get over it first. Mentioning it is painful enough already. The thing is, I’m not in the mood for any kind of intimacy right now and I certainly don’t feel like inviting men over to my house. At least, not for the next few months. Friends are allowed to visit, but only if they come bearing useful gifts, like a humongous bottle of Red Horse. You will be seeing more of me because I intend to ask my boss for a few days or a week off. In this agitated state, I don’t trust my writing capabilities. I am mentally and emotionally unfit to work.

The second one, well, you won’t be so glad to hear about this, but you will be hearing lots of heartbreak songs coming from my apartment within this period of time. I know, I know. I’ve already terrorized you with nonstop George Michael and Jeff Buckley ever since I moved in here, but this is the least you can do for a neighbor with a shattered heart. To get you more prepared for the oncoming auditory onslaught, here are some of the songs that you would be having a mighty LSS with. In no particular order:

• I Can’t Make You Love Me by George Michael
• Forget Her by Jeff Buckley
• Kissing a Fool by George Michael
• Making Love (Out of Nothing at All) by Air Supply
• Reason for Breathing by Babyface
• You Oughta Know by Alanis Morisette
• Foolish Games by Jewel

Yes, I know some of the songs in here are uh, quite questionable, especially item number four. Let me clarify that I do not listen to Air Supply under normal circumstances but see, when someone just made mincemeat out of your heart and poured acid on your remains without any sign of remorse, you tend to do things without the supervision of your brain and personal tastes. Go ahead, cringe. Throw a few tomatoes at my front door if you must. I promise you this will only last for a few months. Pray that I get over it easily, or it will be eternal damnation for your eardrums. Last time I checked, listening to Air Supply is not a valid excuse for eviction. Yet.

Third, ignore the sounds of crying and sobbing that will surely pierce through your walls for the first few weeks. Understand that every corner of my house reminds me of him and that I dread going home to this unit every night. Understand how I must feel everytime I go to my room and lay in the same bed that he and I used to have sex. Understand that everytime I open my door reminds me of his late night visits. Understand that every motherfucking square inch of my house brings memories so painful I feel like dying many times over each time I remember them. Understand that the person responsible does not give a fuck about my feelings, not one goddamn bit. Why would he? He’s with somebody else already. I am of no use to him anymore.

That’s it for now, neighbor. I have to go out and buy some more tissues. We will have a little chat, you and I, when I’m feeling a lot better. Oh, and please return the broom that is usually hanging by the side of my door. I’m not so devastated enough to forget that it’s MY broom and I do have to clean, heartbroken or not.