I'll be leaving for Ma's tomorrow late morning, dropping stuff off at her place, then going to the dance lesson. And seeing Bret. Christ. The one sentence that I'm almost positive will come out of his mouth at some point, and that I dread more than anything, is "so, tell me about Julia..." I couldn't handle it. Nope. I'd just lose it! Yeah, right. I'd paste on a smile, make some joke about how I'd sensed it coming on, and act like there was nothing between him and me. Angela's of the opinion that I should sit him down ("if he looks like he'll run, tie him down") and talk to him about everything. Ma's sure he's going to ask me what's wrong. Ah, but she doesn't know that it's quite easy for me to hide what's actually wrong. First, that's assuming he'd even ask - the happy mask will probably be pretty damned strong tomorrow. And second, even if he does (which he won't), there are a dozen other things that I can say are bothering me that actually have nothing to do with the real problem I'm having. A little trick I've learned along the way - sometimes it pays to have more than one issue, and to be a professional worrier.
And now, because I went out with people twice in one evening, I have no cash. I think I'll have to run by an ATM at some point, which means spending more money I don't actually have...goddammit. I'm such a bloody idiot. I've been stupid all summer.