I had terrible indigestion earlier today. I think it was the ham in my sandwich.

"You should go home," my co-worker informed me. She looked at me from a couple angles. "You don't look well." She grabbed me by the chin and tilted my face toward her boss and my other co-worker. "Doesn't she look ill?"

"Yes," they agreed. "You should go home."

"You've been quiet all day," she told me. "That's not like you."

Sure, I wasn't feeling well, but the quietness was because of things on my mind.

I didn't admit to any of it, though I wanted to.

~

"Fuck you, C------!" I yelled, standing at the tallest point in the city, post-coitus, flipping the bird to the downtown core. My belt flapped in the wind, the buckle clinking.

He laughed. "That's the second best response I've ever had after sex."

~

"I've got a free ticket to the opening next week," I told my friend, the one who has been on my mind. I wronged him, though I didn't mean to, and it has been weighing heavily on my mind. Guilt, fear, anger. "Want to come?"

He turned it down, because he decided to buy season tickets, but he bought tickets for the same day I was going.

Later, he thanked me for providing him with a good photo for his Facebook page.

Things are feeling closer to normal.

I feel better.

Also, my guts do too.

~

"I've been thinking of you since Monday," the carpenter told me. "What did you do to me? I can't get you off of my mind."

"Hmm," I said. "Must have been the mind control chip I installed in your head when you weren't looking."

"Ah," he said. "Yes. Probably."

And yet, I still miss G. What a dick.

.

Rosie.

Before&After