A/N: This is a test run of sorts - an idea that would't go away. Depending on the response I get for this, I'll see how I want to go ahead, but there's definitely a few more chapters at least.

Grammar/Spelling might be a bit iffy, because its late, I am sleepy, but I just had to get this out.

Anyway, don't let me keep you. Go ahead and read!

It's four in the morning. Colin is fast asleep; he doesn't seem to have a care in the world. On the other hand I have plenty to worry about – I've got a report due by nine and a lunch presentation at work. And, without doubt, there would be a big pile of papers sitting on my desk telling me all the new stuff I had to do.

I can feel a migraine coming on.

Normally I'm not one to procrastinate. Alright, that was a blatant lie – but it's rare that things get this out of hand, even for me. But last evening, against my better judgement, I let myself be convinced to watch the entire Star Wars series. Starting from Episode IV – VI followed by I – III, because 'they were best watched that way'.

It wasn't the least bit unusual for Colin to come up with something like this on a work night. The phrase 'work night' means nothing to him – he writes the gaming column for a popular website that pays him as he himself so eloquently put it 'to goof off all day'. Once in a while he does pieces for newspaper and magazines or appears on one of those gadget shows as a 'video game expert'.

Not that his influence has rubbed off on me in any way – I am determined that my hand and eyes were not blessed with the coordination required to manoeuvre my little on screen avatar with that wretched joystick, while simultaneously watching the screen for any imminent danger. The only game I've played and stuck to is The Sims. Colin dies a little every time I say that.

Anyway, while he's landed his dream job, I'm stuck working in a slightly questionable law firm (but then again aren't they all?). I've been particularly working my ass of these past few months because news of a promotion has been abuzz. I'm fairly certain that the cretins who call themselves the firm's partners personally create such rumours when work is at a peak to get us to work harder without paying us overtime. Unfortunately they are successful.

And before someone says 'why don't you just quit and join some place that appreciates you more?" and so on, let me tell you this. I'm twenty eight – that's a barely out of college baby in our profession. There aren't exactly firms lining up for the opportunity to hire me. In these times, I'm lucky to have a job (a fact of which I am constantly reminded by afore mentioned cretins). And I'm not the exciting sort off lawyer who gets drug lords or murderers out of jail. I'm a corporate lawyer – which means I spend my time looking for loopholes in the system for the firm's clients so that they can underpay their employees, save on taxes and go on more vacations wearing designer clothes and driving fancy cars.

I see you do not envy my privileged position.

Anyhow, the point of this completely unnecessary tangent was to say that I was up at four in the morning, and I was checking my e-mail. I had a mail from Mel; not surprising because she lived in the UK, and would been long awake now.

There were only two lines, and for some reason they made me want to throw up.

Happy fifth anniversary! Won't be surprised if you've soon got a ring on that finger.

Mel means incredibly well of course – it is not an unfair expectation to be engaged at twenty eight after a five year relationship. Unless you were dating Colin.

Colin does not have the foggiest idea of the concept of commitment – he took months to say he loved me after the first time I told him, and right now reserves those words only for special occasions. Like when I agree to watch six movie marathons on a work night. We've only lived together around a year – after he discovered that he was less likely to die of food poisoning if I handled the cooking.

Anyhow, I would bet my life savings (a sum of a size that would make any self respecting bookie laugh) on the fact that he doesn't even know it's our anniversary today. I have chosen to forget that I myself was unaware of the fact until five minutes ago.

I think of the people who are going to have choice words for me today – my mum for instance. I'm going to have to wear a suspiciously bright smile while answering her 'five years and still not engaged?'

That makes me feel incredibly depressed and tears run down my cheeks. I'm horrified, but they refuse to let up. I think I'm being quiet but I wake Colin up. He looks at me, his expression a mixture of sleepy confusion and alarm.

'What's wrong?'

That sets me over the edge and I start bawling. His forehead is furrowed now – he knows that I'm upset, but has no idea what to say without making it worse. He settles for leaning over to brush the hair out off my eyes and wipe away my tears.

'Baby, what's wrong?'

I almost snort at the endearment – I know he's only using it because he thinks it'll calm me down, but all it does it remind of how much he doesn't say it.


'Well obviously it isn't nothing'

Some give Captain Obvious a cookie. Thank you.

Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. He gets tired of waiting for a response that shows no signs of making an appearance in the near future and gets up, presumably to brush his teeth or something. Suddenly I feel a bit generous. I decide to give him a clue as to what I'm talking about. If he remembers, there's some hope for us after all.

'I'm crying because of what day today is'

He frowns, and moves his fingers as if calculating something. Then his face melts into an expression of enlightenment.

Yes! Finally! I knew it wasn't totally futile to count on him.

'You're on your period'

There are only two times in my life I've seriously contemplated murder. The first was to do with my brother, the first day of high school and a switched bottle of shampoo.

The second was now.

I settled for emitting a frighteningly high pitch scream. I have the urge to pack all my belongings and storm out of the house, but its four thirty – where the hell would I go? Even angry, I'm not irrational. I choose the next best alternative; ignoring Colin and working on my report. He mutters something along the lines of 'women!' and shakes his head wisely before going into his bathroom.

Unbelievable. The prat still thinks I'm PMSing. Never mind that I had my period two weeks ago; a fact he should be aware of since I refuse to sleep with him during my 'days of the month'. I guess that kind of speaks for the condition of our sex life – if he doesn't miss it when it's gone for a week, it can't have been very good to begin with.

Now I'm contemplating the idea of him cheating, and getting what he's deprived of at home from other avenues. However, I dismiss this almost instantly – he's far too lazy to put in the commitment having an affair would take. Next time someone is criticized for being a no good cheating bastard, at least you know they have some skill set – it is not easy to co-ordinate a single relationship, let alone have multiple ones together.

That's how bad things are – I defend him on grounds of laziness and not his unending devotion or something along those lines.

I clear my head and type furiously. Ironically my work is most lucid when I am livid – so at least I know I'm going to have a fantastic presentation if nothing else. Every cloud has a silver lining and all that.

I'm so caught up in my presentation that I don't even notice him when he comes back and gets into the covers. All I know is the next time I happened to turn in his general direction I seem him fast asleep. I would get angrier, but that isn't eve possible. I have reached my absolute limit.

It's six thirty at last – I've never been more happy to hear my mobile phone blaring the radio's 'Wake Up' call. Although waking me up is moot, at least now I can start getting ready for work – start my routine and keep myself from dissolving in self pity.

I end up spending a large amount of time concealing the bags under my eyes, which has me running a bit late. I would take a minute to appreciate the irony of being late after waking up two hours earlier than normal, but I simply don't have the time.

The fancy 'not a strand out of place' bun I usually try and fix up is replaced with the humbler ponytail. I decide to grab breakfast on the way – I can't bring myself to work up an appetite, let alone be bothered to make something to eat. I leave the house at seven fifteen. Colin's still asleep.

Thankfully my car has a full tank. Had it not, I would have checked myself into preventive care at an asylum before I went completely mad. I had to tilt the rear view mirror at a slightly unadvisable angle so I didn't have to look at myself; the concealer hadn't done its work too well.

When I reached my desk, something worse than a pile of papers greeted me. It was a large bouquet of flowers arranged in a way that I would normally admire. It was signed 'from all your colleague at Smith and White's' but knew someone from human resources probably got the idea from one of those self help managerial books that say something about employees being the most valuable of a company's assets.

Come to think of it, Megan did ask me around six months ago when Colin and I had started dating. I assumed it was small talk. Never underestimate how sneaky HR can get when they have ulterior motives. Lesson learned.

The rest of day was fairly bearable until lunchtime (post my 'lunch presentation'. These are always scheduled right before lunch, because no one can actually eat at them. Talking and eating is not a pretty combination). Colin called. He said something along the lines of 'he knew I didn't mean to act that way in the morning, and he gets that women do crazy things when they have their womanly issues' (he still can't say periods without blushing, the sissy). And he added an 'I love you' as an afterthought.

Note to self: act bitchy in the morning if you want your boyfriend to call you at work for the first time in months (possibly years).

This is the first time today I actually want to break up with him. That was the last freaking straw. He's patronizing me? Classic.

I know for sure I want to break up from him when he sends me a link to a video of an ape and a dog having sex. Not only is it incredibly funny, but also it's on a site that has been tagged for being inappropriate by the company. So now the geeks at tech will think I'm watching porn.

Just fabulous.

Abrupt ending? I actually like it (maybe because I'm too lazy to write any more at the moment).

Anyway, what do you think? Should I continue. I'm no mind reader - let me know!