At work I'm ok, because I know that Steve's not going to turn up (he doesn't even know where any of the places I work are). This afternoon I had to drive past where he was last working, and I felt irrationally fearful and anxious. I mean, what's he going to do? Spot me with his eagle eyes and jump onto the car or something? Even so as I went past I was shaking. But everything was closed down. Which had me worrying for a few seconds about where he was working, or indeed if he's working (without tools?), until I remembered that it isn't my affair any more. Even if he is dead and rotting in his bed, it's nothing to do with me.

Then I get home and it's back to the knot in my stomach, the constant nag that only comfort food can ease. Here at home I have time to think. But I don't know what to think, and it's easier to sit and write, or play stupid games, or make cards, or anything really, to try to pass the time until he is gone for good.

Sometimes my heart aches for what we once had. But that's a fantasy relationship now. What we'd become was intolerable, and remembering that soothes the ache. I've been grieving for that a long time had I but known it. Now, like Scarlett O'Hara, I'll think about it tomorrow - if I think about it today I'll go mad.