I'm feeling lost tonight.

The old dog has left our shop, headed to greener pastures in LA, for some super hero movie. Another stupid super hero movie.

Our head mold-maker left, too, headed for a full time school job. Union shop, regular hours, pension. What we all dream of.

I came out of the spray booth to find the shop foreman cleaning my table. My TABLE. There are few buttons that people can push that make me react from gut, and one of them is touching my work area.

Another is going into my bedroom without my permission.

And another is touching me on the face without my permission.

These all feel like violations.

The shop foreman pulled the "It's my shop and I'll do what ever I like in it", so I apologized, told him he was entirely correct and he could do what ever he liked, then excused myself back to the spray booth to have a little cry.

It was stupid. Crying over someone touching my things.

Stupid, stupid.

But I cried, and Lisa made jokes to distract me from my unhappiness.

Then we went for a walk to the set decorator's department to find British Nick, who always has something funny to say, and it's impossible to be sad around him.

Now, no sleep comes, because I am anxious.

.

Rosie.

Before&After