Some people prefer numbers, I prefer words. But in the same way you can spell numbers, you can count words.

I found myself counting my fingers at work today.

Thumb, index, middle, ring, small. Thumb, index, middle, ring, small. Thumb, index, middle, ring, small. Thumb, index.

December. January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December. January, February, March, April.

I was trying to put a mathematical reason to explain why the amount of times I cry per day goes up as each day goes past.

Whilst standing behind my bar, surrounded by empty chairs awaiting to be filled I continued to stare at my fingers.

…Still 1 finger off 18 months. I assumed a mile stone date might of explained why I subconsciously was getting more upset for no reason. Back to the drawing board.

 

Obviously it was the lack of drugs. If I looked back at my fingers I could work out its been well over a week… or maybe it hasn’t. It must be? Trying to think about the last time I had them doesn’t make me feel any better…

 

Then there’s the other thing. But thinking about him right now aggravates my mind more than the dexie count down. From the start of this sentence, 7 minutes until he promises to message again. Drinking again, out at a bar. With clients. Every time I go up to see him he’s fifty shades of hung over…

 

No no no, there are must be more. There’s my mum. Paranoid, conspiracy obsessed mother. I came home yesterday to see the kitchen sink tap had black tape around the piping. I went to pull up the handle to fill up the kettle to realise that black tape had a purpose. It definitely was a DIY job.

 

“Mummmm! What happened to the tap!?”

 

“Oh! Last night, it burst and water went everywhere. Spooky really, I was thinking about what would happen if you moved to Sydney, and WOOSH! It blew! You see Caitlin. It’s obviously a sign…”

 

I awkwardly acknowledged her words and turned around to place the now full kettle on the electrical foundation. Obviously a sign? Obviously she heard my phone conversation with Matt moments earlier and heard me mention the only good job I found was in Sydney…

 

I can’t deal with this right now. I have things to do…

 

2 minutes.

 

 

1 minute.

 

Back to the distraction. There must be many reasons, or maybe it’s the collective that is creating the problem.

 

 

Lots and lots of little things…

 

 

And the clock strikes 12.

 

 

Well he’s with clients anyway. I know how it is, to have to drink for your career… and speaking of drinking. That’s my cue.

 

Until next time x

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