I was grieving in the office on Friday, but I had my cap on and nobody could see my eyes. So I think they didn't know. They might have noticed the excessive blowing of my nose though. I hope not. Well nobody should feel competent to ask me what I am sad about.

Soon after 7pm my boss told me she decided to cut our pages down from the excess 8 that sales wanted. I felt better, as this would mean I would not be working myself into the ground to help them earn their commissions - and they're getting selfish about it, giving me deadlines.

So I went on strike over the weekend and produced exactly 1 story. And I spent the weekend with her.

All I feel is a dull ache.

It is true, I can not get as hurt as before. But so explain why it hurts so much when she said we should let each other lead our lives, once again.

"Can you don't go?"

She asked me twice when we first met. Now it is my turn to be asking her.

We have no fate.


So I have no luck.