For three weeks now, I have been annoying the world with my sad little sighs and my reluctance to get dressed. I’m not eating properly, I’m not sleeping properly, and I can’t even turn on the television without risking a genuine emotional breakdown.
I am almost ashamed of myself, truth be told. I have never been this affected by anything or anyone in my entire life. While I’m not exactly your traditional Independent Woman, I’ve always assumed that I had it in me to deal with stuff like this.
But I’ve been staring at my phone for several hours now.
Picking it up. Putting it back down. Moving it nearer to the window, just in case the signal is better. Moving it back, just in case the signal is worse. Picking it up. Putting it back down. Writing a text message. Deleting it. Re-writing it with the intention of making myself sound more balanced. Deleting it again, because one text message isn’t going to undo three weeks of psychotic behaviour…
You know. That kind of thing. All day.
Because today is the first day, since we met, that Stretch hasn’t been in touch.
And I hate it.
Normal service will resume next week. I apologise for being such an incessant bore.