Oh, hello, it's the week before my period. Maybe THAT explains my tremendous rage/sadness?

I don't want to report the whole conversation here in tedious detail. All I'm going to say is that tonight after work I changed into my sporty gear and went to fetch J from the playground where he was playing with his father. After a brief but infuriating conversation I found myself standing toe to toe with J's father, pointing my index finger at him and saying under my breath, "I am starting to feel happy for the first time since I met you and I am sick of you trying to f---- with me." My entire body was just bristling with rage. I wanted to kick him. He was just standing there, smirking at me.

And then, as I walked away, my mobile rang. It was The Irishman, en route to the lakefront for a long bike ride, phoning me to say "hi, how are ya, what's new" and "I'll speak to you early next week." Early next week. When he gets back from Boston. Super.

J and I ran mini-footraces for the next hour--my super-sneaky way of getting a small workout while entertaining him. Then we ate dinner at the taco place, stopped off at the grocery store, and headed home. Three blocks from home, I realized my face was twisted into a nasty grimace and the tears were starting.

At home, I found a long voicemail from J's father about how he doesn't deserve that kind of "violent rhetoric" and blahblahblahblahblah. F---- off, f----head.

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