I pushed back from my desk, sat up straight, and then stretched a bit to relieve the tension from my sore shoulders and back. I looked at the massive pile of unopened letters and correspondence sitting on my desk and sighed heavily. You would think I had not done any work for the last two hours in looking at that pile!

What an exhausting month. The Caledon 5th Anniversary was nigh on 30 days ago and I still haven't had time to compile the Caledon Oxbridge fundraising results for the Deans, the Guvnah and the community. I continue to find people passed out in the alleys of New Toulouse from Mardi Gras, and I just deposit them into the Pension so they can sleep it off.

Reservations for New Toulouse Jardin II have stalled. I need to get the word out about the new sim so I can get the number of residents I need to ensure the sim will fly. I won't add another sim to New Toulouse if it's just not financially feasible for the community. Maybe some of the passed out Mardi Gras drunks would be interested in reserving a parcel?

I rubbed my tired eyes and then decided to take a selfish moment. I stood and walked to the window of my office and looked out into the blue expanse of sea to the west of New Toulouse Bourbon. How I love this view. Especially at sunset. I never expected to love this house as much as I do. I took the parcel as an afterthought, as soon as I had all of the Jardin I residents settled into the parcels of their choice in Bourbon. But then CC had the idea of basing my home on the Ursuline Convent, and Mr. Breitman built it. It has become unexpectedly dear to me.

I leaned my head against the cool stone column next to the window and closed my eyes. Words and music. Music and words. I wish I could turn them off, I thought. The only thing that turns them off is about two bottles of wine, and I don't want to go there.

I thought: I don't believe any of it, but there is nothing I can do. Well, nothing that I am willing to do. I can't. I am far too proud.

Then I remembered the time three years ago when I was not so proud. And I begged that one to stay. That one I danced with in the shadows, out of sight. That one that hurt more than any before and any since.

I felt the lump rising in my throat. God damn it, *you* know you are better than this Gabrielle...

I slid to the floor of my office, buried my face in my hands and burst into tears.


Francesca said…
Oops - my comment on the St Patrick's Day Ball was meant for this post - I clicked the wrong link. Story of my life [SIGH]. Here are my scintillating words again:

Ah, so that's why I woke up in the Pension. It must have been the heat heat made me so unwell - that, or one of Mr Lazarus's oysters. I can't think what else it could been.

My RL alt was educated at an Ursuline Convent. It probably explains a lot.