queer - garbage

i came in this morning to find a bottle of poppers on my desk. i noticed them, froze and ignored them, flipping some papers on top of them.

i haven't had poppers in a donkey's age - this might not be the moment, though. it's bad enough it being monday, without this shit piled onto it, too.

if anything though, it's getting easier not to smoke again. which is reasonable. apart from friday's slip-up, that's me almost at the two week point. when you can get through that, you can do it. the next big hump is two years, i think. it was for me last time, anyway.

elaine has been texting all day. there are hints, but nothing concrete. i'm starting to think it's Someone i know, that's why she's not telling me.

it's funny, playing text-tennis with two people at once. elaine's texts are playful, sparkling with half-glimpsed hints. Hers are, i notice, increasingly more authoritative, more dominant, i suppose. with the two of them leap-frogging like this, each throws the other's messages and delivery into a sharper contrast.

i left lunch as late as i could, managed to avoid all these arseholes.

just before i left for lunch, i overheard one of the supervisors talking about sending someone down to the catacombs to try to locate some older files. so i spoke to him about it.

he seemed pretty surprised that anyone would actually volunteer for something he thought he'd need to press-gang someone into, but agreed.

so, after lunch, i reported to him and collected the list of files i was to track down from the moist and smelly darkness down there.

i spent the afternoon down there, my text messages a lot longer and more involved than my usual office hours' communication.

i carried on working until about six, even though i'd decided to leave at four thirty.

i felt a bit grubby, being down there all afternoon, so i dived into the shower.

then i came on here.