It's Sunday lunchtime. I've been writing utter rubbish all day. Trying to batter my brain into essay writing action with coffee. Now I am shaky and sick. I wanted to text you but you left your phone on the bed and Mike left his bag with phone in the kitchen. Now I feel unreasonably jealous, inadequate and lonely. Right now I feel that I am just an interloper in yours and Rodneys relationship. I am afraid to tell you just how sad I am because I do not want your sympathy, I just want everything to be right with us. I feel it is not though. Even as I type that I know I am being unreasonable, but that is what jealousy is: a lonely stupid rollercoaster. I do not know how I can make this work for us.
I just want a simple life, I want to be able to talk to the person I love and not feel as if I am circumscribing another relationship.
I drew a map of our relationship today. Agrippa was at the heart of our three rings of influence, adjacent to an intersecting triangle of pain.
I clumsily tried to talk to you about this when you got home. I stuffed it up completely, I'm sure I did. I tried to flirt and talk sexy but I have no idea what I'm doing or how to do it or perhaps that's what you intended in your responses. You then told me (in the guise of a joke?) that you just wanted to break up. Alfred then turned up with a bottle of wine so I (like the insincere prick I am) switched on the faux cheer and talked with him about postmodernism and studying.
I just want this essay to be done and to work this stuff out with you and Rodney. Now I'm at the computer again unable to write my stupid essay. I feel so sad, perhaps we should break up, you'd not have to listen to my moaning and I could not feel any worse.