Worked a concert tonight. It was okay, except I have to work early tomorrow morning.

When I got off work, though, I had a missed call on my phone.

It was G. I'd forgotten I'd asked him to phone me.

He called twice. Eleven thirty, which was probably when he got home from the event, and half an hour later, about midnight.

I read too much into the double phone call.

Tomorrow I will tell him he broke my heart.

Tomorrow I will tell him that he is a weak and foolish boy-child with commitment issues.

Tomorrow I will tell him that if I ever see him again, I will punch him as hard as I can.

And all the while I will be thinking: I love you, you asshole. I love you, and you're throwing it away.

And then I will wipe my hands of him, delete him from my phone and my facebook, and erase that sweet photo I kept of him on my computer.

And I will be done.

Well, except for the whole 'having a broken heart' part, but that, too, will pass.

Life and love. Bah.

Oh, did I mention? I was working on a stage the other day and someone dropped a multitool from a Genie lift. Fifty feet or so. Hit my coworker square on the hardhat (thank goodness) and skimmed my arm enough to leave a couple of bloody scratches.

Close calls. It was a little scary.

Stupid people not having their tools tied off.

Also, no news on the pregnancy scare front. Nothing has changed. If I hadn't been spotting last week, I would say I'm perfectly normal. Everything feels correct and my chemistry feels normal.

Who knows.

(Please no baby please no baby please no baby.)

Sleep time now.

.

Rosie.

Before&After