Dear Kay,
You'll have to forgive me, I'm in one of those disgusting, loved up head spaces tonight. It's pretty much all Squidge in my head right now.
I had a shocker on Thursday. The hearings went ok all week, but then I was fronted with a mountain of work I needed to have done but couldn't, plus the additonal work of sorting out what had gone down during the hearings, and dealing with the mountain of written submissions, and I had no idea what to do and the database was playing up and I didn't know if I was doing the right thing or the very wrong thing, and there was no one to tell me how to do the mail merge, and I couldn't do the mail merge without getting the database straightened out. Plus it was about 41 degrees or something insane, and I don't work in the heat. I prety much cease to function. So, there was frustration, and anger, and total hopelessness, and when I got home I did that really pathetic, awful weeping.
The night before I sent a few back and forth smses to Squidge, and he told me he was going to Bendigo for the funeral. I tried not to worry about him driving for hours in that sort of heat, and I tried not to be a bit miffed that he didn't ask me to go with him (because it's not like I knew her. But still, that's fairly typical girlfriend duty. Anyway, I know I'm being totally irational and that's completely beside the point, and it was his family time and blah blah blah, I'm really not a bad person. Promise).
Anyway. I knew he must have had a shitter day than me, but I still sent him a text asking if he wanted to chat, and about an hour later he called me, and I cried on the phone telling me about my shit day and he told me about his, and we shared our burdens I suppose. I cried and whinged while simultaneously feeling awful for dumping my shit on him. He said he didn't mind, that he was glad it was making me feel better. I told him we could dump on each other, he could handle mine if I handled his.
He came over last night and he told me that after he got off the phone he had 'a bit of a sob in the bathroom.' And I was going to make a 'so is that a typical reaction after you talk to me?' joke but instead I just...I don't know. Fell a bit further, I suppose.
And today we went for breakfast and then shopping for a bit, which was exhausting and I remembered, like always, why I absolutely hate shopping centres, and then it was about 3 in the afternoon and we were driving back and I consciously decided to pre-empt his telling me he was just going to go home and write, by asking him if I could just drop him off at his place. I thought it would feel better to be the one with shit to do, not that I did, rather than always being the one that is sort of, asked to go away, but it didn't really. Because then I spent a while obsessing that he wasn't going to do and write but actually wanted to spend time with me and I'd fucked it up by trying to head him off at the pass to make myself feel better. Because I am that insane, apparently.
Anyway. He gave me this great idea about writing in a notebook rather than on computer, so I can't constantly retype the first paragraph and not get anywhere. It's a good thought, but I haven't done it yet. I write too slowly, and I type really fast, and I'm just used to that, I suppose. He also gave me a first line to work with, which is hard. It's 'She was born in the wrong time, she should have been born in the future.'
I can't do much with that, unfortunately, because it's not really my style. But I'll try and humour him, I guess. I don't know, I probably won't let him read it. I should just think of some crappy plot and...I'm not going to finish that sentence.
Anyway, anyway, anyway. After this week I won't have to dread going to work anymore. It will all, mostly, be over. For a couple of months, anyway. I've worked like such a dog for the last three months, it's kind of insane to think that I won't have to do that anymore. I won't need to rock up with a mountain of papers on my desk and quietly bury myself underneath them, only to clamber back out again by 5. I'm looking forward to doing something less full on. I'm looking forward to not getting to work on a Monday and having 32 emails from the same panicked student. I'm looking forward to doing what everyone else is doing in the office, and not being the odd one out. I'm looking forward to the others having some sort of almost idea about what I do all day.
Oooh, text. Squidge just asked me how the writing was going. I suck.
I had a dream about Squidge last night, sort of. I dreamt I was with some black guy, and that Squidge and I weren't together anymore, and I was sort of...'oooh, black guy' but also really, massively sad and disappointed that Squidge wasn't around. Just the knowlege in the back of my head that he wasn't there, and that I wanted him to be. And I woke up and didn't know where I was and then I rolled over and saw Squidge's jacket on the back of the door, and then Squidge himself lying next to me, and I was so relieved.
I warned you. Squidge, Squidge, Squidge. I kind of like that stage where they completely take over your brain, though...I just hope his brain's doing the same. Y'know?
I miss you.
--K.
PS. He just texted that he's writing all night. Damn.
