I love looking in my day timer and have work booked up for the next three weeks.

It's really, really comforting. I have more than enough work lined up to carry me through to the next month.

~

G still calls. His calls have become increasingly affectionate.

He's started beginning his calls with 'I want to see you again' and ending them with 'I miss you'.

~

The head of props had to go out of town for a funeral, and I was brought in this week and next week to help cover for her.

We did really good today, me and the two other builders. We got a shitload done and finished and crossed off the list.

We did so well, even the big bosses commented on it.

Honestly, it's because the props mistress isn't there to hover over our shoulders and question every move we make.

~

G called while I was upholstering a green velvet chair.

"Can you believe it?" he asked, frustrated. "She sent me this email saying 'What ever it was we had, it's over'. Just because I didn't email her for a week. What the hell is with that? We didn't even have anything going on! There was nothing there!"

"Well," I said as I fitted the first layer of fabric on to the back of the chair. "Did you sleep with her?"

"Well...yes."

"Did she want a relationship?"

"Yes, but she was going back to Europe so I told her it wasn't going to work out."

"But you maintained contact."

"Yes."

"How often did you email her?"

"About once a week."

"And for how long?"

"Ah...well, that's tricky."

"A week, a month, six months, a year, five years?"

"Er...over a year."

"So after sleeping with her, and despite telling her you didn't want a relationship and she did, you maintained regular contact for OVER A YEAR?"

"Yes."

"WELL OF COURSE SHE THINKS THERE'S SOMETHING THERE, YOU NITWIT."

~

"You're not smiling," said G.

"No," I said. "I'm not." I wasn't. "I have to go. My phone is dying."

"Can I call you later?" There is a wistfulness in his voice.

"Alright," I say, but I might be lying.

~

I'm almost done the chair.

I should have gone home an hour ago, but I dawdled talking to G, and now I didn't feel like going back to my house, dark and hot as it is.

It's not going very well. I was using the tools -- stapler, scissors, pliers -- with a viciousness you really can't do with upholstery, and ended up over cutting, stapling wrong, and having to rip out the staples with pliers.

Finally I notice I'm gritting my teeth and frowning. My jaw hurts.

I grip the white arc of the back of the chair. Reflections of myself and the artificially lit room bounce back from the tall glass windows. The sun went down, but I don't remember when.

Tears come unbidden, and I cry with my forehead pressed against the pastel green velvet.

That woman is stronger than I am.

What ever it is we have, it's over.

~

I got home late. Rode the train. My phone and my iPod were dead, but I was beyond caring.

Shopped with a vengeance. I only bought shredded cheese, for making scones tomorrow morning.

Sat down in front of my computer as soon as I got home, only going upstairs to put away the shredded cheese and have a piece of chocolate.

The chocolate's warmth, like a fuzzy green blanket wrapped around my brain.

~

My phone vibrated half an hour ago. It was G.

I didn't pick up, and he didn't leave a voicemail.

.

Rosie.

Before&After