Client Y cancelled.

I spent the hour alone in my room. I could hear nothing but the fury of me, my mentalese, and very likely Y picked up on my despair. The force of my misanthropy was probably seeping under the door, out the house and across the fields. You think with words we communicate? I was positively shooing him away. We always know everything, all of us, try as we do to pretend we don't.

I can hear Gareth's chair.

It always scrapes, just as he moves in for the killer comment.

Christ, what a life.