Spillage
1:50 p.m. - August 30, 2003

The past week has been eventful to say the least.

Big called from his cell (Ding! Ding! Ding! Get a clue, Emily!) on Tuesday to let me know that he is now going to make a concentrated effort to make his marriage work. Hooray for marriage counselors! His wife has found this journal several weeks ago, read all of it pre-Devilish Diva and, although she has recently stopped (wrong, I just checked...she was here, I think, on Thursday and was perhaps disappointed to find that I had not yet fallen apart), may read this again at some point if she feels the need or suspicion to check back in on The Ex Other Woman but at this point I really don't care.

We'll igonore the fact that my hands are trembling as I type.

Not sure how I feel about that but I will say that the Tim Stories were a lie. Mostly. We're friends. Friends who could perhaps date and perhaps some of our friendly dinners or drinks were a date but he would be forever hung up on the fact that we're coworkers.

He really did look at me one night, as I said, and smile. And when I asked, "What?" - he really did say, "You're so cute." But that wasn't in the parking lot after a softball game. It was at a bar surrounded by coworkers. After we went to another bar where he stood off to the side and watched me sing "You Oughta Know" ordered me another drink and picked up my tab.

So Debbie took me out for drinks on Tuesday. We talked about my situation for a bit but the conversation turned, thankfully, to other things. The bartender bought me a shot and we toasted, "To exes - may they rot in hell."

I dragged myself into work on Wednesday, surprised at my ability to function like a normal human being, smiled and carried on as if nothing had happened. Called him a liar and a coward when a couple of close friends asked what had happened.

Once a cheater, always a cheater, one of them said, she can have him. You're too good for that anyway.

I talked to my boss about transferring to the Columbus office. He thought it was a fantastic idea as they're going to be dissolving my position anyway.

I couldn't bear the thought of being alone that night and went to the boys' apartment to play cards. Was supposed to have drinks with Tim but he begged off. Home by eleven. Cried myself to sleep. Cried myself awake and took the morning off.

On Thursday reality began to creep in. I was already thinking that I wasn't sure if I really wanted to move to Columbus (I mistakingly typed "California" - Fruedian slip, I guess) when my boss called me in to his office and told me that it was going to take more then they thought to transfer me. The job would be changing and he basically said he thought I couldn't do it.

"Did I burst your bubble?" he asked after telling me not to run out and find an apartment.

No. But then I got to thinking. If I don't transfer then I have to find another job here.

I don't need this stress right now.

Tim called from his office around five and we walked over to the gas station for soda but walked back with beers in our hands. Two hours later I left, showered, talked to him again, and went to karoake.

I sang "You Oughta Know" (using the stand for the first time which I quite liked) and was told that it was best I'd sang, ever. Well, every word is true, isn't it?

I also put on my boots and sang a little Nancy Sinatra. "Come on boots - start walkin'!"

Last night I actually stayed in. Shortly I'll be getting ready for my grandmother's birthday dinner. Yeah, lovely. The one who prays daily that I'll meet Mr. Right...the one who thought Big was Mr. Right (everyone did at some point). Tonight drinks with an ex who works for the same company as Big (just ironic, that's all) and tomorrow drinks with the 'rents and Debbie and Leo.

Just trying to keep myself busy.

And dammit if alcohol isn't involved everytime.

On top of my non-existant love life, my lack of a future and my job...there's a looming health problem that will drive me to tests at the doctor's office on Tuesday if something doesn't change.

That fucking terrifies me.

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