Breaking, Not Entering III

So.  Surgery and anaesthetic take their toll.  For a week gravity totally had its way and I would just keep going back to bed.  Then I was officially "fit for work" but wanted to sleep; and sleep.  Which possibly wasn't the best thing as we were preparing for a big event in the EP.  Days consisted of antiobiotics, washing out my clotted, rancid sinuses, work, and feeling sort of dead.  Oh and the door got smashed in again.  One could get paranoid.  Any repair to the inside front door seems like a temporary job these days.  It's taken three major hits since I moved in eleven months ago.  Just over a week ago I was putting out my rubbish and noticed that someone had put a disposable lighter between the door and the jamb, to prevent its closing.  "Ah", I thought, "the nutter upstairs must have popped to the night shop.  I'll leave it ajar."

At 1am it was bedtime and I'd heard the nutter in his flat so thought I would go down to check the door was closed.  It was not, so I closed it.  Between 1am and 7.15am when I left the house, someone smashed the glass.  Being double glazed, fortunately they smashed only the outer layer but still.  The glass has twice been smashed and the entire door and frame taken off once; it seems someone is keen to enter or, at least, cause grievous bodily harm to the door.  It still is not fixed, and large, barely attached shards of frosted glass rattle when I shut it. 

Our event in the EP:  I was dreading it.  Before I moved to the land of my forefathers, I met a youngish man who worked at the EP.  I rather liked him, and visited him, and then he sort of dumped me by not contacting me again.  And then after I'd moved here he contacted me via the dating website on which we'd met and vaguely flirted and said we should meet up, and then he disappeared.  Rinse and repeat a few months later.  After which I blocked him.  My station in the EP was outside the main restaurant and the gym.  I sat there in utter dread.  Not because I loved him or anything pathetic like that.  I just did not want to see him.  I think it's because in my life story he felt a bit significant, and I was probably just a thing to do in his.  Seeing him walk past looking a bit Val Kilmeresque maybe chatting to some high-heeled stripling stagiaire would have just reminded me how inconsequential I am to him; to anyone.

Fortunately the gods of petty snivelling were on my side this week and I did not see him, for which I am very, very grateful. 

And we now have a three day weekend for which, also, I am very, very grateful.

Oh I forgot to say last weekend I was visited from the UK by lovely S and her lovely chap D, and we had a smashing time.  We did the Castle, which somehow I had managed not to do so far.  Executions used to take place approximately where I get my tram in the morning.  Lovely.