Saturday, 1/9/12.

Pissed off. I finished work at 9pm last night, got home, Thorpe’s not there but he told me he’d be at Tom’s anyway. Fair enough. He rings me at roughly 9:15pm to say he’s waiting for a couple of the guys to turn up shortly and that he’ll stay for a little bit but will be home soon because he’s absolutely knackered from driving 10 hours to go get the sofa.

I expected him home for 10, maybe 11pm at the latest. He gets in at 12:45am, clearly fucking high, knowing full well I have work in the morning and don’t like being woken up. I was awake anyway because I was so annoyed and I didn’t even get a fucking apology. I even said to him, I’ve been waiting for you to get home so I can go to sleep and he didn’t give a shit. He got into bed, gave me a peck on the lips and attempted a cuddle. Yeah, like that’s fucking enough. I had one evening this week to have with him and he spends it at Tom’s. 

I don’t know why I fucking bother sometimes. 

UGGGGH.

In other news, I have to work 11 – 8pm today which is fan-fucking-tastic and then I’ll probably come home to find Thorpe gone again.

9 hours minus hour and a half break – £53.