nobody is in the right bed tonight except the kids upstairs

Apologies in advance to the people I'm about to piss off or hurt, but you know: my blog.

I was doing so well. And they were too; the note worked for a while. But tonight it was loud voices and heavy boots and now they're screwing and I haven't got a broomstick to bang against the ceiling, or the heart to interrupt someone in the throes of love. Even if my own body's on, surprisingly, a sort of sexual hunger strike that has made for a socially difficult couple of evenings lately.

And I just sat here for a moment, trying to play a complicated computer solitaire that's been flummoxing me and ignoring the dishes I was going to wash, and out of nowhere I was crying again. I hesitate to mention it at all. I don't want to distress MonkeyScientist in Germany or his STBE-wife here (well, and I don't want to give her the pleasure of seeing me suffer). But unbidden the words arose, the ones I've been very carefully not thinking for a month now. Five short words that almost aren't words at all, but what we had before words; the emotions that pressed us to make language so we could make these primal things heard. And it's weird, knowing that he's probably thinking them too. About her.

Why did you leave me?

I know the world's not fair. I got that. But does it need to be this deeply unfair?