Well, this is a weekend that I am glad is over. Cleaning the old flat wasn't fun, to put it mildly. Low point of yesterday:
Me: (after more sensible earlier refusal to do the following, the various hours having erased my ability to ignore the pain of what we're doing) "maybe we should just give in and get professional cleaners in" Him: "no, we're nearly there now"
Me: (tearfully) "maybe, but I still won't have a home, or a boyfriend who I love"
Him: (practically) "how will a professional cleaner help with that?"

Low point of this morning (final defrosting of freezer and giving back keys):
Him: "Anna, there's something I should..."
Me: (doom)
Him: "I've been seeing a bit of Lindsey" (all-dancing, all-singing, all-coding, all-dark-haired-and-skinny-work-girl-who-had-nothing-to-do-with-our-breakup) "We're going to the opera next week"
Me: (doomconfirmed. silence. ouch)

So, after a spa with my lovely friend Lucy, I'm veering between rage (a month and a half after a seven year relationship is pretty fast, but then she was around before), tears and a sense of relief that my jealousy of her over the last six months was justified. Also, it helps to be allowed to be a bit angry with reason. And plus I have an excuse to get another glass of  the nice white wine I bought.

*goes to get another glass of wine

I now have a tidy room, aching legs and am watching Big Bang Theory. New flatmate man just got back - ironically having just discovered that his ex has also started dating someone new!