Video by emilyannwillcox

This is what saying goodbye to my corporate job in London on Valentine's Day looks like. Apparently this year I'm quitting more than just bad days. I just quit my job. Who needs stability when you can be single and unemployed? Rule number one of any good breakup. Always look your best when you return for the final exchange.

Today's commute gives a whole new meaning to walk of shame. Once you attempt to escape the matrix, you will immediately be blacklisted as a corporate spy. Nothing says we don't trust you anymore. Quite like awkwardly waiting at reception. Turns out no breakup is complete without baggage. If, like myself, you're a seasoned pro,

then you'll already know there is only one universal remedy for breakup. Dive headfirst into the gym where the air tastes like despair. Every rep is a question of your will to live. And self-inflicted pain is the new measure of progress. Besides, the best way to move on is to find new distractions. And the gym is the perfect place to find men who would rather talk about leg day than what you do for a living.

As if walking out empty-handed and jobless wasn't bad enough. The streets of London are now a parade of happy couples. With bouquets big enough to hide their relationship issues. Enter phase two of the post-breakup ritual. Extreme bitterness with a side of emotional eating. The cake would have been enjoyable if it wasn't for the pitiful glances of past spa.

Yes, it's Valentine's Day. Yes, I'm eating alone. And no, I haven't been stood up. I did, however, get chatted up at the train station on the way home. If you look tired, do you want to talk about it? Counts as a pick-up line. Then I guess I must be winning.