It felt so strangely like a movie, wandering through the spices aisle amidst obnoxious “Oh the weather outside is frightful-ing” going on over the Smith’s stereo system. I swear as I dropped my third lean cuisine into my basket—just enough food to just subsist throughout the next solitary week– I heard my feelings plink into to interwoven black plastic. As I turned the key into my apartment later, which is now completely devoid of roommates, I realized that if I had a cat, I would be pulling a Sandra Bullock and dipping my oreo into its milk bowl. Truly, this feeling can only be described as cinematic. That special sort of holiday loneliness that only has an end in sight when the radio will stop playing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”

How do I combat this? Any tips?