My Bloggy Wog

                       The password on my office laptop is “I Love Ian”.

And I can’t be bothered to walk to my office on the other side of this room to change it.

What an idiot.

Why the hell did I let him be my password? 

The only forseeable way I can avoid the changing of it, is to never restart or shut down my computer; only hibernating it, so essentially, I don’t ever turn it off. 

Unfortunately, it is 6 years old and lint/dust is prone to wedging itself in the failing cooling fan which causes my laptop to overheat and power down. 

On the next occasion this happens - being a sentimental and born romantic - once more I will have to enter those three words: ‘I love Ian’, to power my machine.

Upon typing these words, I will no doubt break down into tears and phone him; desperately trying to rekindle something that should not be rekindled and BEGGING for him to come back to me. 

Why am I such a twat? 

Why can’t I just walk over to the fucking laptop and change the password?

Fuck…. 

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Oh bugger me. 

There’s more. 

There are at least 1000 ‘happy family’ photos of Ian and me with the two dogs in iphoto on this Mac. Bugger. ‘Happy family’ photos. 

When I look at these I will no doubt feel torn between my inner need for a ‘happy family’ - for I never did have one as a child - and my inner need for freedom. I will romanticise and think ‘what if? What if I have missed out on an opportunity where we could have lived happily ever after with our surrogate canine children in this minature hell, all the while allowing my creativity to fester?’

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Somewhere in this house, there is a photo of us from a time we were happy to play the perfect couple. 

There is also an entire collection of his very amazing Vinyl - this I may try to keep - and the Complete Beatles Chord Books. 

There is a Basketball and two hand held weights. I don’t want these.

What about the Eeyore mug? He loves this. His gorgeous little niece Indigo bought it for him as she found it too hard to pronounce ‘Ian’ and it sounded more like ‘Eeyore’. 

I love that mug. It’s just the right size for a larger-than-usual cup of Tea. 

I don’t think I can keep it. It will hurt too much.

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He still has my front door key.

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His pop up tent is in my shed. 

GOD.

THIS FUCKING HURTS.