"We should get together," he texts me. "Some time this weekend."

"Busy," I tell him and I'm not lying, but I'm relieved.

~

A lover of mine is coming to town, on business, but he'll be staying here.

"I love your house," he tells me, when I apologize for the mess. "It's comfortable."

I remember when he said that, so I'm carefully not cleaning.

My house is still predominantly clean from my birthday party, anyway.

~

"How about monday or tuesday?" he asks. "We could get together then. I don't work."

Yes, but I do.

"That should be okay," I reply, though the sensible voice in my head is screaming "NO NO DON'T DO IT!" and beating on the back of my eyeballs.

~

Sitting at work, the pressure on. Nobody speaking, everybody working, sweat glistening at temples.

And all I can taste is the buttery lemon cookie with the too sweet icing I bought at the little French bakery in the backwaters of London.

It was so sweet, so rich, I never finished it. The taste still lingers in my mouth.

Church was just getting out. It was later morning, on a Sunday. Gospel churches, large middle-aged black women in pastel dresses and the most fantastic hats. I wanted to take pictures, but I didn't.

I like doing religious photography, but without people.

I am not a religeous person, per se, but I believe in being in touch with your inner balance between good and evil, and that takes a lot of time alone.

~

NO NO DON'T DO IT!

My eyeballs hurt.

Did I mention, I bought a new dress? Green and black. It should be here on monday, maybe.

.

Rosie.

Before&After