Sometimes we're so concerned or worried or—okay, panicked—about the future of a relationship, we resort to a form of late night, scientific crunching called magical math. We subtract the time it is now from the time he last called/emailed/texted and compare that figure with the median number of hours that pass between his average calls/emails/texts. We calculate the probability of our having been boring/too tired/too intimidated/too loud during the last dinner. We forecast the percentage of times he's broken up with other people based on a numerical analysis of his past relationships. We guestimate if he's a big fat jerk.
Here is the ugly truth: If you got beyond the second grade, you literally know better. This kind of thinking is not math. It is self-torture, and the last thing that is going to make love come to you is a session of emotional waterboarding. Go to sleep. Wake up in the morning. If you have to use all the rapid-fire brain power, balance your checkbook and examine the rate of return in your real-life IRA.