The sound of silence

It is four thirty, my house is deadly quiet except for the sound of my fingertips tapping the keyboard. I am pretending to work on my essay.

In reality every fiber is stretched towards the telephone, I will jump a mile when Jess calls me, hoping against hope that I will have an apology coming.

I have played out all possible scenarios in my head. Last night we were just in shitty moods, and I know that once we get back to where we were things will be good again. Last night was the last straw and I will come home tonight to hear his voice on my machine. Last night was the end, and nothing but silence will greet me. If I didn't have an essay to write I'd go out and get gloriously drunk, but alas, here I am with my barely four pages and outline. At least things are going well with it, although I'm sure that without that distraction I would have six pages written.

And I want to have fun tonight, and nothing ruins a night like being dumped, except waiting to maybe be dumped.

If I could get a hold of him I could preemptively dump him.