Well.  It's cold.  I'm in my new back yard at 9:13 pm trying to find keys in the dark.  This isn't fiction, but part of has yet to believe that.  It seems like fiction.  It seems like I'm waiting for someone to yell "Cut!",  and everyone applauds such a great scene.

What I know, after a month of confusion is this.  My girlfriend was unhappy.  And she had a crush on a plumber at work.  And she was drunk at the bar after a stagette.  Turns out the plumber was there.  Interloping friend tells plumber that my girlfriend liked him.

The next day she walked to work and when I got home there was an e-mail saying she had left.  This was, as time told me the story, she woke up and saw the hickey the plumber had left.

So, while a month ago, I was curled up with my favourite person, I'm now renting the top half of a house owned by a man named Leroy.  Leroy is into health and wellness and he's an arborist.  I still finish my work day looking forward to seeing my girlfriend.  But I have to stop calling her that.  Because now, in a spirited zeal, she's head over heels with the plumber.

I still see her from time to time, convince myself that, after all we've been through, we should be friends.  And we talk about the plumber.  And I'm a fool.  Because the whole thing tears me up a little more every day.

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Autosmac is a place where I just write what I feel when I don't feel like writing. This isn't just my place. It's here for all of us to jot something without fear of editing or grammar or storylines. (suits me just fine, thanks) Stop in and leave your mark.

updated Jul 11 by smac972