Day 115: Tales Of Too Many Questions And Not Asking Your BFF The Right Ones

I don’t know where I work anymore.

I’m told there is some city office for Highway, an office I suspect is at 120 Collins from all the plans I found.

But I couldn’t tell James I found his hidden plans or that I snooped through his belongings.

Yet, I’m expected to pull up a box and put together everything I need into it when I have no idea where I’m going.

Pity, pity, pity, I keep telling myself. Stop pitying yourself and get on with it.

But I can’t get on with it. I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to even attend to the fact I’m about to wet my pyjamas.

It’s paralysis; I know this is what I have to do, go along with the new regime, but my body hasn’t caught up with my mind. Or perhaps it’s the other way around.

After hearing James packing all morning, I hear one loud crash and quickly bolt from my bed. I assume a pile of boxes has fallen on top of him. It’s the only thing that has pulled me back into reality.

Running out to the living room, I can see James standing in front of the dining room table. He has moved it from its position and shoved it against the wall. Two of the chairs are on the ground, no doubt falling in the process.

“Are you ok?”

James looks at the mess and then looks at me. “Oh, so you are here, then? Andie, it’s nearly nine. Get off your ass and start helping me.”

He thrusts his hands onto his hip and tilts onto one hip. The attitude is palpable, and I’m waiting for him to start yelling again.

“Helping you do what? Destroy my house? Box up all my things? What do you need help with, huh?”

I could feel him take a breath and regain composure. He wanted to chastise me but despite his instinct, he was holding back. Very unlike James. “Yes, I do. We’re moving offices. Get with the program.”

He picks up a roll of tape and throws it to me. I don’t catch it, instead letting it roll past me and down to the hallway near my bedroom, where I wish I had remained.

“You’re not getting this, James, are you?”

“The tape? No, I’m not getting it.”

I laugh, a little hysterical from my delusion. “Fuck, not the tape. I couldn’t care about that. You don’t seem to get you’re up with the program and I’m not.”

I see his lips part. He has no idea what I’m talking about, still. I point to the box he holds, with ‘James’ office’ scribbled on the side.

“You have an office, right? Do I have an office? Where is this office?” 

I feel my cheeks becoming pink, more pink than usual. My voice wobbles. 

“Where the fuck is all my stuff going?” I pause, holding my breath, and then I don’t wait for his response. 

“Where the fuck am I going?”

Stop leaving me out of my own life, I internally scream. Stop it, stop it.

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