Step One. Cross a time zone, preferably in a car. People have always told you that you can't run from your problems, but they are all liars. You can drive away, and drive fast, as no cop will dare pull you over. They will line you up in their radar and watch from behind their dark, dark sunglasses. For mysterious reasons, they'll stop a man in a red pickup going barely 80.

Step Two. Visit friends who live in a large city, and spend money on things you need: peach stationary in a golden box, a scarf silk-screened with a map of Paris, a skirt that swishes when you walk. When you leave the last store, you'll pass a bum selling newspapers. He will call you fat when you don't buy one. Say nothing in response, and regret it later.

Step Three. Drink too much at an Irish bar that has floors worn soft from dancing. Decide that whiskey tastes like every bad kiss you've ever had. Fall asleep on the toilet in the ladies' room. Wake up in your bed, grateful to be alone.

Step Four. Read an article your mother sends you that lauds fasting as the most direct path to spiritual enlightenment. Live for three days on ice chips and orange juice. Eat pancakes on the fourth day, and throw up on your kitchen floor.

Step Five. Reacquaint yourself with your childhood bedroom. Exploit the healing powers of your old twin bed and a stuffed dog named Alaska who it still kills you to leave behind. Emerge from the room after a day and fight with your parents. Pack Alaska in your bag before you slam every door in the house behind you. Lay him on the top so he has room to breathe.

Step Six. Allow someone to cut your hair. Be disgusted by the results. You will not feel prettier or happier or like a new person. Friends you haven't seen in months will compliment you on the flattering style or on the subtle blonde highlights. Snip at unruly strands in front of your bathroom mirror, and discover you've given yourself bangs.

Step Seven. Fall for someone who will never love you back. He will be much younger or much older, because the last thing you can handle is your equal. Tell yourself that rebounds are for basketball players, and laugh because remembering that detail will make your father proud.

Step Eight. Call your high school boyfriend's house, even though you haven't spoken to him in years. Hang up quickly when his girlfriend answers the phone, but then call back and apologize. Tell her she's a very lucky woman before realizing that she probably isn't, that people never really change.

Step Nine. Throw away everything that holds a trace of him. Tell yourself that even the needy wouldn't want his shit, so it's better to just get rid of it all. The clothes are first, followed by hideous ceramic plates and books he'd left all over the apartment. Leave only the cds, and convince yourself that someday those songs won't carry the same kind of weight. Someday it will simply be music again.

Step Ten. Become obsessed with the idea of The Future. Read your daily horoscope in four different places and check out a library book on palm reading. Go to a psychic--she'll smell like cinnamon and wet leaves, and she'll pat your hand and smile when she deals the card with the moon on it. You have a destination, she'll say. Open your eyes.