He said he was looking for a woman with her own ambitions, her own life, someone who 'doesn't need constant attention.'

Then he called me 'busy' because I didn't immediately respond to his 'hey' at 11:30 AM on a workday.

My cat just knocked over a vase and shattered it on the floor.

I immediately started narrating the scene in my head, a detached, melancholic voice-over, musing on the fragility of beauty and the chaos of existence, as if I were in a French art house film.

I bought a new dress today that actually had functional pockets.

For a split second, I felt like I'd won the lottery. Then I remembered I still had to carry my purse for all the things that wouldn't fit in those 'functional' pockets.

He posted on Instagram about 'embracing solitude' and 'finding peace in his own company.'

Then I scrolled down and saw he’d tagged three different photographers in the last week.