Weekends are the hardest. Actually any day without work is hard. Plans are made, knowing it would be cancelled. But all week, I’d look forward to it.

I wake up knowing there wouldn’t be any text messages or phone calls that I had missed, but, still hopeful, I check my phone first thing in the morning. I made excuses — saying it’s way too early and that my friends are busy. Hours passed and I’m still in bed, checking my phone every five minutes, not wanting to miss a single text that never came. More time passed and the jingles finally sounded from my phone — “Hey, girl, sorry I have to cancel today. I’m sick/working/having dinner with family,” whatever hasn’t been used in the past three days. “Yeah, you’re good! Catch you next time!” That get exhausting. I roll over, put the blanket over my head and slept some more.

More hours passed, the sun has gone down but it’s still early. I sighed in disappointment for the longest day ever. I checked my phone for the absence of text messages again — my friends should be off work or done with classes by now. Still nothing. The double checkmark of disappointment appeared next to the texts I sent. And the thoughts crept in. “No one want you. They don’t like you. Why do you think they keep cancelling plans made days in advance? Why do you even try to be friends with these people? They don’t want to be your friends — who are you kidding? You didn’t actually think they wanted to hang out with you, did you? You poor thing. Do yourself a favor — stop trying and just disappear.”

I stared at the ceiling as the voices kept getting louder and louder again with every repetition. I let the tears roll off. Listened to the silence. Wiped the tears off and picked up the phone, left upbeat voicemails about wanting to catch up soon and that we should make plans. I put the phone down again and waited for the texts and phone calls that would never come. Maybe by now I should’ve eaten something.

I finally sat up in bed, looked at the mirror hanging on my closet door and sighed again. I looked like hell — no wonder no one want to be seen with me. So I took a long hot shower and cried some more. Afterwards, I put tape on my eye lid and colored it in with shades of maroon and bronze and brown. I lined my eyes close to the tip, filled in and shaped my eyebrows just so I’d look less sad. Then a coat of concealer, foundation, more concealer, setting powder, highlighter, blush, bronzer — almost done. I overlined my lips to hide my shyness and insecurity. I pulled up my favorite leggings that hug my legs just right paired with a loose black top and a leather jacket. Then a brand named, overpriced black and gold satin heels to finish off the look then I was out the door. “Table for one, please.”

I sat in the corner, avoiding the tables of twos and fours around me. I kept my eyes on the traffic on the other side of the window and my phone — pretending to compose a text that I would delete as soon as the waiter left my table. The hour long meal passed too quickly. I sipped my drink slower, pushed my pasta around a little — but it still went too fast. Every time I caught a fellow patron’s eyes , I quickly looked away and closed my eyes. “You’re fine. You’re a strong, independent woman out for dinner. There’s nothing wrong with having dinner by yourself. It shows how comfortable and confident you are.” Check, please.

I quickly got in my car and took a few deep breaths. The tears rolled down again. I thought I’d had run out by now. I checked my phone again — no calls, no text messages. Okay.

Back at home, the heels came off, my perfectly applied mascara ran down my cheeks. Why hasn’t the day ended yet? Why haven’t I ended this? Oh, what long days.