Well, the decision of two years has been made and enacted,  As from yesterday afternoon, my flat  was officially vacated by Ms S, love of my life.  A lovely girl, the girl I love.

She took a picture of me and her off the fridge, that must mean something, yes?  She left me a couple of her plates, that must mean something, yes?

When she said we had only been friends these last five years, and I said "So you don't mind if I bring home a strange girl tomorrow night and fuck her", she went silent.  Which for her, in 2006, was a big reaction. That must mean something, yes?

She never left any final note, any document that officially wraps up a relationship, an electronic equivalent of a 'Dear John' letter. That must mean something, yes?

I don't know where I stand.  I don't know if the eight years I put into this relationship, through drought and deluge, through passion and distance enforced by lack of chemicals, I don't know if it was wasted. I hope not.  The girl's hot, she's smart, she's sassy and she's one of a kind.

Of course, I am stoned right now, having waited from around midday yesterday when I first rang mumbler, until 630pm when I fronted a little cash to help things along, till the moment of the shot at after 2am (I go to work in 3 hours...)  I sat in a Milton carpark from 1230 to 2am, with a crazy cypriot, my good friend M, and later joined by a mid 40s silverhaired junkie.

In the carpark we discussed Islam v Judaism v Christianity, how Islam view Christians and Jews as 'Children of the Book'. In the carpark the Cypriot asked me how long since S had left, I said one day, he asked what I needed, and arranged a pickup of some of his parents' excess crockery.  So eager to help,  junkies can be so nice when the pressure's off and a fix is on its way. The gear was great, btw, freshly baked and clean and doing all those things that gabo's meant to do. Namely, removal of pain. Well, numbing it. Whether it's pain in your leg from a smashed bone or torn cartilage, or mentalpain from abandonment by a loved one, gabo numbs pain magnificently. Comfortably numb, as PF would say.

I don't know what else to say, other than when I came home to the empty flat at lunch and again at 6pm, it wasn't as bad as I had made myself think it would be.  Some stuff had been cleaned, rearranged, some taken away.  I made  a list of what to purchase.

I glanced at an old photo album, we seemed to take many more photos in the days of heavy junking.  Should I give S the ones containing her, or is that mean.