Water found on the moon

June whatever, 2008 (FUCK ALL p.m)

Yes. There is a girl. I wasn't big enough to ask for her name. He said that he "loves hanging out with me", he "loves my mind" and that he STILL wants to go to &&&& with me. But he doesn't want a romantic relationship and that he's sort of seeing this girl and that's when that piece died inside of me. You know, the one in my chest.

I still like him. A lot. And fuck, does it hurt. And damn! Do I feel ugly and unloved and unspecial. And shit, did I cry. I cried and I cried and I sobbed and I asked God, angrily, "Did I not know it? Did I not see it? And did I not say, please, let me be wrong?"

And no. I wasn't wrong.

I was right. I was RIGHT. And I lied anyway. Because being wrong was all I wanted, ignoring this gorgeous mind that ##### so loves. Well...enough of that shit. I was right. ANd self-deception is for assholes. And I am not an asshole. At least, I am no longer an asshole.

So it still stings and what I've learned rom my misadventures is that the stinging goes away. And I'm not going to wallow in it. Because ther really is one choice in this whole affair and that is that you mourn and then you recover...and the more time you do this, the more you realize how boring the mourning part is. And that recovery is where it's at. And that there is so much more fun in the part that isn't pining for what you can't have.

Ugh. I should stop this before I grow some character.

July 9th, 2008 (8:18 p.m.)

I really wish I had written down the date of the last entry. As it stands, I have no idea how much time has passed since I've seen him. I'd say, a month, if not more. Fuck.

I'm going though an over-eating phase. It just started, now that I've been through a not-eating + exercise phase. Three english muffins and a hand-full of malt balls doesn't seem like a lot, but I feel fucking bloated. I think I'm going to get my period soon. Joy. Seriously.

My job...well, it's not great, it just doesn't suck like the flames of hell. Bah. Whatever. I'm sleepy. I'm going to sleep.

(9:56 p.m.)

I didn't end up going to sleep. I went and bought wine instead.

July 11th, 2008 (8:30 a.m.)

Of the things in my life I don't regret the most (?) [sic] yesterday is way u on the list. Instead of going to my Pop Culture East and West class, I went to the Indigo at the Manulife Centre and saw David Sedaris read. And he signed my copy of 'When You Are Engulfed in Flames'. In it, he wrote:

"To Inari,
Diabete is for lovers.
-David Sedaris."

It was, in a word, thrilling.

Woke up in the middle of the night, deeply upset. I think I had been having a dream about ####, but I can't remember if it was a bad dream or a good dream from which I disappointingly woke up.

Today is the first da I can expect a letter. It will be torturous.

p.s. If you want to kill anybody's orgasm, say you're Dutch.


July 13th, 2008 (1:38 a.m.)

Being high...kinda blows. A lot of the time pot is not my drug. There, done and done. I'm too insecure to be a pothead.

God I miss ####. I miss how %%%%% used to be, before he got all morose and political. Oh, yes, though...####. Miss him. Miss him. Misshim.....


Poor cow.

-I


Dead fish do not float during stormy weather.