So, I've figured out what to do when you split up with someone. First of all, spend the better part of the work week ignoring any fallout from the situation and keep telling yourself that if you tell yourself that you shouldn't be upset about it then everything's brilliant. When the weekend comes, wake up early after an awful dream about being romantically linked to a public figure that you dislike. Have a shower then go and buy a really big pork chop and the Saturday Globe & Mail.

Put the pork chop in a container with a pint-or-so of water and a teaspoon of brown sugar and two teaspoons of salt then refrigerate the hell out of that shit. Read the paper (if, incidentally, the public figure you dreamed about being romantically linked to writes a column about dreaming about being romantically linked to public figures then fine, relish the fact that you now have fodder for a mediocre blog entry) and get to the crosswords and figure out that you're shamefully inept at doing crosswords by yourself.
Piss the rest of the day away. At 7-ish, throw a head of garlic wrapped in foil into a 400-degree oven (gas-mark 6? Idunno) then take some beetroot and some marjoram and some olive oil and some more garlic and some s+p and throw them in some more foil and put them next to the garlic. Wait for a bit, maybe read a terrible book that you started at work because it was free and now realize that though you dislike the book, you still want to know how it ends because you're sure that when you finish it you'll be sure that it's terrible. After an hour or so, get some beet greens and broccoli rabe and blanche them for a couple of minutes in boiling saltwater. Throw the greens in an icebath then squeeze them out in paper towel. Berate yourself for getting beet green juice all over the kitchen counter. Remember that public service announcement from Saturday mornings promoting self-esteem where the little kid berates himself in the mirror over jump-cuts.
Get the garlic out of the oven and squeeze it into a bowl with some red pepper flakes, all the while scalding your fingers on the holybitchingshit-hot garlic skins.
Get two pans ready and hot, one with too much butter in it, one without. In the one without butter, throw that pork chop in and then next to it put in a halved peach. In the one with the butter, put the greens and the pepper and garlic paste. When you're almost confident (cooking is about confidence) that everything's done (don't forget about the beets) put it on a plate. Mismatch the meal with a humdrum Ontario Riesling and then think about how much you would have preferred an audacious Burgundy or a macho Chianti or a flippant Côtes-du-Rhône.
Finish your meal too quickly and then realize that with wine sometimes quantity trumps quality. Do the dishes accompanied by miserablist Scottish pop music.
Feel terrifically sorry for yourself.
Wait for Monday.