Get home from work 630pm. S goes to muff doctor at 1pm tomorrow, I didn't want to text her my well wishes, that seems so impersonal, so I rang..she said she was in a weird mood, worrying about 2moro, she was distant, we didn't talk long. so it goes.
Sharyn at work was dumped by her boyfriend around 5-ish. I moved into another room whilst it happened, played with other PCs.
Mumbles rang about cooking some 'dinner'. Jet n Michelle didn't hold onto that $60 they were meant to, I now know of a cook and can do nil about it. That's probably a good thing, but it won't stop me ringing him asking for tick.
I read in my pink "Getting Through Heroin Withdrawal" that when you are thinking of scoring you should put it off for an hour. I guess I am not withdrawing, I'm just using when I can, so I don't give the hour put off thing much chance. But I will watch Futurama, listen to a little Jean Grae.
So life goes on. I cannot believe how little the dark empty flat affects me as I pull into the driveway. When S was leaving this struck me as the scariest thing, the thought of seeing no lights on at home. But it's that way and I'm OK. Get home, prep a dinner, clean a little (S was no great cleaner, let me tell you, her skills lay in other areas, and I don't mean sex).
But life goes on for a minute, then another minute.
Listened to a poem about love not being all, not meat nor drink, nor can it fill your lungs with air. Nor is it the flating spar the drowning man holds on to, rise, then sink, then rise, then sink again.
But so many men right now are contemplating ending it all for lack of love alone.
How true.