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I'm on my ride home, tired as hell. I always drag ass towards the end of the week, the old shanks are filing paperwork for a rest, they want to take the hamstrings and quads offline for a bit. Old Shadowfax is running kind of clunky. It's day 10 of a 10 day lubrication cycle. He's noisy.

Traffic is jacked. Fountain Avenue is a solid wall of stalled out rice-burners and earth-hostile SUV's. I'm splitting the difference between the parking lane and the flow lane - I've got 18 inches of leeway on either side of me, this being a particularly tight section of the route home. Up ahead, this guy dressed entirely in black, on an old italian road bike, is trawling along at about 12 miles an hour. I'm going about 20. I'm closing pretty fast with him. He's buffed up - sinewed arms, tight black tank top, no helmet. Just up ahead, a city bus pulls out and blocks off the entire lane. The cars next to me slow down. I think, great, now I can get around this guy, he's slowing me up.

I pop out to the left, into the middle of the lane. I stand up on the pedals, and give the bike a short sprint, swinging around the nose of the bus. Now I'm around the bus and the slow biker. Smooth sailing until Sunset.

Out in front of the hospital, the guy passes me! He's obviously hustled to catch up, and now he thinks he's dusted me off. He's in decent shape, and on the road bike, he's got mechanical advantage on his side. But this is a pride thing. I'm a professional, this guy is an amateur. One night, riding home, I was utterly shamed by a 50-something on a totally cherry Fuji roadie with legs like redwoods. That guy was a pro - this guy is a piker. Pikers get passed.

I get low and profile. I drop into my next to highest gear and spin up. I take the pace up to around 25 miles an hour. I can't hold this pace forever, but I figure I can hold it for 5 minutes and ditch this guy. I pass him on the left and then swing back into the bike lane. It's a mild downhill grade that flattens out. I count off the cadence, one two three four, one two three four, get the bike grooving on my pace. I start singing Caribou by The Pixies to myself, cranking twice for every beat. I'm really hauling ass. My lungs start burning. I tell myself I have to hold the pace for the whole song to be sure I've lost this dude. The song's over. I slack off. Several minutes pass.

It's near Silverlake and Sunset that the guy blasts past me at full tilt. He has been chasing me for something like 10 minutes. At first, I'm freaked out. This guy has blown me off twice, and I don't want to get served crow again. However, I've recovered from my earlier sprint, and I know the route. I know that the Mother is coming. I've got a plan.

"The Mother" is a decent piece of hill along Sunset. Headed towards Downtown, it tops out just before the big intersection at Glendale. I crank up, but don't aim to weld the guy's doors shut as we would say back home. Instead, I lock in on his pace, and draft. This is a little hairy, especially since this guy may take offense to my drafting and jam on his brakes. However, I can't imagine he wants 190 pounds of Igloo rolling up his ass at 25 miles an hour, so the risk is a calculated one.

Drafting does a couple of things. One, as this particular instance is involuntary, it makes the guy feel like he's being chased. This makes his ride harder, hopefully well up above his anaerobic threshold. In other words, I'm encouraging him to override. Two, he's pulling while I'm on drag. He's having to break the air, while I'm hanging out in his wake, doing significantly less work. I'm cranking the bike, to be sure, but this is all below my Vo2 Max. I'm holding steady, while this guy is using up his afterburners. I'm waiting for the Mother.

And here she is! The grade climbs. I drop into my top gear, stand up on the pedals, and go into a total sprint. I'm not holding back a thing, this is max afterburners, peak RPM. The bike shoots up like a scalded dog. I see the guy crank up, but I've been winding him for a mile, and I've got much leg in reserve. I feel myself pulling away from him. I hold the pace. The ozone from the street is making my throat burn. I can feel the interior volume of my brachial tubes imaged inside my chest by the burning, so acute and pronounced. I top the hill and lay down across the handlebars, profiling, cutting my drag.

Up ahead, I can see the firemen at the station point towards me, and presumably my pursuer. They begin to shout and whistle. They are yelling, "Come on! Come on!" Fuck it, it's street theater. I give a big rebel yell and feel a kind of crazy numbness shoot down my legs. As the route flattens, I'm topping out the bike. I literally can't make it go any faster. The big intersection of Glendale and Sunset is 100 meters ahead. I see the red hand icon at the crosswalk indicator go solid. I see the light go yellow. I am within range. I hold the pace, even though I want to pull over and puke. I skunk the intersection at a solid 30 miles an hour as curtain of angry rush hour cars closes behind me.

I did it. My hands shook for the next two hours.

I really don't understand the mentality of some people.
I discovered that Carmageddon is EVIL!, because the game lets you, nay ENCOURAGES YOU to run over cute fluffy cute puppy dogs and people who get down on their knees and BEG you not to run them over. So I made a node about it,
Carmageddon is EVIL!, so that people could find out that
this driving simulator might not be suitable for kiddies to play. And what happens to my public service announcement? It gets downvoted!!!1! Is everybody
here DEVIL WORSHIPPERS or something? I don't get it.

Redemption.

This is for the time in 6th grade when a boy told me that I was ugly. This is for those 8th grade dances where they would start the slow-dance music and I would wander around and act as if I didn't care that nobody asked me to dance. For being the token nerd at a stuck-up prep school in a herd of well-meaning ice-blonde Vandy-applying wannabe-model 'friends'. For being ridiculed for holding a lifetime membership to the Chess Club of Pittsburgh, USCF be damned.

On to the story: a few days ago I got a call back from a woman I talked to a long, long time ago, who, when she last tried to rope me in, said that I walked funny. So she called my old number, got forwarded to my new one, and told me that they needed an Asian woman for Nike's new national advertising campaign (print ads, no walking). $1,000 per day of shooting, which should help with the tuition.

Thus being appropriately random. I'm not sure if i'm going to actually get it, I still have to go see the casting director one more time.

So this is redemption for all the people who say that women rowers are manly, this is for the TRRA coach who told me that I was too skinny to row, the other coach who told me I was too top heavy to cox, this is for the 35,000 calories I erged and ran and starved off in the interest of a really fast boat. This is for everybody who believes that applied mathematicians can never be conventionally good-looking, and all of those bitter people who believe that pretty girls are always going to be idiots.

People have said a great deal about the sentiment I'm trying to convey, but this time it's quantified, backed up in cold, hard cash. This is throwing the 'you're-not-good-enough' pop culture back in its own face.

It's not really as important as acing these finals or as winning Royal Henleys or finishing that interminable finite element bible in time for my thesis. But nonetheless, it's sweet, sweet, revenge.
Things I am wondering today:

-do I dream too much
-do I drink too much
-should I really be spending money on clothes
-should I be wearing clothes
-is my cat ever going to scare away the big orange bully that beats her up on sunny afternoons
-am I silly to feel unwanted
-am I supposed to find someone
-do I want to find someone
-how long has that bean salad been in the fridge
-why is the bean salad now missing
-did my roommate eat the bean salad or did she throw it out
-am I as scared as I think I am
-deep down inside do I feel that sadness is beautiful
-should I stop singing to myself on the sidewalk
-should I go back to thinking I'm crazy, and was it better that way
-does music make me too happy
-do I really like broccoli as much as I convince myself I do
-do I simply need a lolipop and a pat on the head to make it all better
-is it the springtime that makes me want to jump all over every decent-looking asshole I see or is it something else
-am I silly and naive to think that there's something out there for me -is everyone else just as silly and naive as I am

grabbing your heart so tightly you can feel it almost break with clenched fist nerves wrapped around all of you. walking away from a place, something that stopped being a home, does not feel like 'everything i've ever known' or 'everyone i've been close to all my life', because it changed, and i only know it was supposed to. i am not sad, in that.

she came to me, all torn flesh and broken, at a time where i felt my entire existence faltering, and we held eachother together then. somehow niether of us really came out of it the same, and i wish to but cannot say that either of us were perfect friends, but our souls are crossed, forever, and i love her so intensely that sometimes it hurts and it rips me apart.

but look at me, i'm standing on my own now, on my own. i have so many reasons and would you believe that i can hold you in my head just as well now as i ever have?

i don't know how it's going to be when i see you again, i anticipate it will be awkward at best. i do not blame you for being angry, for not understanding why i couldn't exist there. you told me to go with a voice drenched in you have to stay. i didn't forget how you helped me but i also can't forget how you drift. drift when our heads clash, how you couldn't find it in yourself enough to stop doing things that made me worry about you, left me sitting in my room or wandering around dark nights trying to find you. have you any idea how many tears i've had for you, still have for you, how much i love you? how much i worry and hope you will make the right choices, that your "i'll be fine"'s, as harsh and insistant as they were, are true.

i know you can stand on your own, i know i can, now. i still fall, sometimes, i always will, and when i do i remember everything we shared.. and yes, i am beyond saddened that it seems to have fallen away. in case you were wondering, yes, i still think about you every day, i am not having the time of my life and forgetting that you are. that any of you are, breathing living and far from me, for the time being. i do not forget, and how badly i needed this space, i can't even begin to express.. i still need it.

i don't know where to stay in limbo i am lost, not just mentally anymore, this is physical and i am lost because i don't know where "home" is.. i don't know who my home is with, because there is not a single person on earth whom has shown me they are willing to, in this moment, stare into my face and tell me that it is with them, always, and would i please, stay with them, forever.
money money money. yep. finally i got my allowance money. went downtown and bought a pack of cigarettes (phew) and some more nailpolish. it's very warm outside today. it was pretty nice, and i was pretty happy walking around in the city for once. don't know the exact reason actually. maybe the warm weather? maybe that my parents are home again? maybe that i got my allowance? maybe that tweak peaks is soon back on air? or maybe it was all of them. i don't know.

but now..
i'm feeling her hands on my back, holding me tight.
tight.
away from the world.
away from the evil

y e s.

i want to be with her now.
please come to me and hold me.

and we will forget our pain
and our hearts will merge again.

tomorrow i will meet her. what should i do until then?
think?
no. thinking is bad. i have to keep my mind occupied. can't let my thoughts wander again.
they always go to the wrong places. the bad neighbourhood.
and only she can rescue them.

that's why i love her.

that's why i'm hers.

anyway. tonight she is with her friends. it's "the eve of may day" today and people usually go out and do stuff. and i'm stuck here as usual. it makes you feel pretty miserable in one way, but on the other hand, if i'd gone out i'd probably not felt very good either. so i should probably be happy that nobody asked me out. i'm very fragile today even though the happiness and i need to feel safe. i'm longing for the night. usually i can focus more during the night and i feel that that's what i need ring now. to focus. and to be safe. it's painful though. i which that my brain could go into hibernation and that i could accept everything that's happening around me. that i don't have to analyze everything so much. i probably should do something passive today. maybe watch old episodes of the simpsons, or read a book. just something that i can focus on. today is one of those days. one of those days when thinking, isn't a very good thing..

Tonight is Walpurgisnacht, the eve of Beltane, also called Cetshamain--half Samhain, a sort of opposite of Halloween, as we are on the other side of the year (up north that is). Tomorrow starts the first day of the Celtic summer.

In Germany, it is the eve of St. Walpurgis' Day; supposedly, the witches would gather around Bald Mountain and hold their "unholy sabbats."

Today is also the day that Anton LeVey supposedly shaved his head and started his brand of Satanism.

And so, in honor of this bewitching day, I leave thee with this:

First Witch
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

Second Witch
Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.

Third Witch
Harpier cries: 'T is time, 't is time.

First Witch
Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.

All
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Second Witch
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

All
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Third Witch
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Silver'd in the moon's eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

All
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Second Witch
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
(Enter Hecate.)

Hecate
O! well done! I commend your pains,
And every one shall share i' the gains.
And now about the cauldron sing,
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
(Music, and a Song, 'Black spirits,' and company.)

Second Witch
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks.

--of course, MacBeth

I'm on my last day off, before returning to work after my little brain salad surgery. I love not working. I was born to retire. It's a shame we have to wait so damn long.

I just caught a movie on HBO call Enthropy, I believe, starring Steven Dorff, which basically told the story of my life, well, a major part of it. He fell in love; one of those love at first sight kinda things..and so did she. Her name was Stella..but as usual, certain things drove them apart. They each tried to get back together at different times, and the timing was just wrong. And it never happened.

I had a friend who used to say, " I didn't know this was a timed event!" I love it..

Anyway, at the end of the movie, Dorff, talking to the camera, says, "Three things in life are true. You live, you die, and things change." And then he added, "Oh yea, there's a fourth; everyone has a Stella, and no one can ever take their place." I believe that to be true..It certainly is for me.

My Stella was a Dede..Many before and many since..But , no one has ever taken her place.

I met (with) my significant other on Portobello Road among the charming antiques and trendy food stalls. This is the centre for well heeled bartering and discreet haggling. The place that Hugh Grant wannabies foppishly frequent.

Luke Vibert was playing at a club in Farringdon that night and we had to make it before 11 to avail of cheaper entry. We almost came unstuck on the Tube but arrived flushed and excited at the appointed time.

The sometime Wagon Christ played a dextrous set, eschewing his more obscure stuff for an eighties-clad excursion that came with a generous serving of irony. The patrons of this nightclub were an affluent lot and my gf and I survived on a series of abandoned alcholic beverages, dismissed with an airy nonchalance by their owners. This despite the ISS-high prices (well over three quid a pint).

The following evening (having bought new Gola trainers) found us in the bedroom bar near old street. It looks like a spartanly furnished apartment. Mr. Scruff was doing his thing behind the decks. The music twisted on it axis; the (three) seasons being seventies funk, eighties histrionics and Mr. Scruff's more well known tracks (greeted with fervent cheers).

Afterwards, we collapsed into bed like a house of cards.

After an amazing weekend, of hanging friends and going to a BDSM club for the first time(yes my wife and I are perverted) and having an almost no an actual religious epiphany and finding another piece of my puzzle of life, I came to work

There, a ton of bricks hits me. I realized that the company I am working for is going under. I have to get out. After working here for 6 years this month I will have to leave or risk my families well being.

Do I really want to?
No... It feels safe to stay and remain here. But the end is at hand and the light at the end of the tunnel is beginning to make a sound like a train horn.

But I really had a good weekend. I feel so much more confident than I have ever in my whole life. I met people that I feel comfortable with and who don't reinforce guilt inside of myself. It was a very happy place. Seems strange to say that when you see people tied up and beaten.

I also finally told my ex-wife I am a swinger. I was worried she would freak and take our child away but as much as she was startled she seemed to accept it. Along with this conversation my wife offered to take my ex to an Adult Store to buy some toys. This was then followed with a rather interesting discussion about anal sex with my wife, ex-wife and myself. And comparisons of size entered the picture.

Yes my life is wacky and if it wasn't I think that I'd be bored. I may not fit the norm but I do have a few things that many 'normal' people are lacking.

I had a wonderful weekend. Saturday we went to the Northern California Cherry Blossom Festival, which was just great. We had a lot of fun, and a lot of Japanese food, including some things I'd never eaten before. I'd also never seen classical dance before...wow! This was also our slightly-delayed two-year anniversary. We traded presents before we left for San Francisco. I gave him a spiral, iridescent piece of art glass made by the same people who did the tiles and iridescent glass insets at the Wilson Park Castle, where we talked till 3 a. m. the night before he asked me out. He gave me a poesy ring, inscribed in Gaelic with "Mo croide cuirle" (I think), which means "pulse of my heart." It's not an engagement ring, since I want my master's degree first, but (his words) it's "practice." I should have known, since the card he gave me on our actual anniversary day had a lot of extra space below the personal message, and a tiny note that said "Save this. I'd like to use it again on our next second anniversary." see, computer guys can be romantic too. faint

Sunday, we went to Tilden Regional Park with our new picnic basket, and had lunch and mini-hiked. It was a beautiful day. It is a beautiful day.

Last night was the last hurrah of my week of birthday celebration. Yes, I hear your mutterings, “Birthdays get less significant as you get older” and “How can you keep it up for so long”. Anyway, the seven of us went out for dinner at Spettro’s, on Lakeshore Avenue in Oakland.

I ordered steamed mussels in coconut milk for an appetizer, and using the argument “they grow on rocks”, was unsuccessful in convincing a strict vegetarian to try them.

Over dinner, while eating osso buco, I explained the dream that I had awoken to that morning: my housemates and I were playing Clue on a board that resembled our own house. Discussion then begun on whether the cat Skyler would be a suspect in his own right or a weapon in his own weight and which rooms would connect by secret passages.

Anyway, we all get back home and the two dogs, a miniature poodle and a toy fox terrier meet us at the door. I feel a bit of the daily evil coming on as I stand in the kitchen, putting away the leftovers. So, I open my takeout box, turn the haunch of lamb a couple of times to get the meat off, and drop it on the floor between the two tiny dogs. Both of them thought it was a trick. The poodle backed off, unbelieving in the actuality of the offering. The toy fox terrier stood in astonishment, looking from the bone to me, then again. It took a couple of minutes of cajoling from their owner to convince them that the bone was dropped deliberately, and intended for them.

Well I had a interesting time at the prom Saturday night. Everything was going great, no problems or nothing until we got to Perkins at about 2:00am. We went inside, had a good time, and came outside to shoot the shit. After a while my friend wanted to get something out of his car so he started walking, and he yelled out (ironicly) "Dude, wheres my car?"

So we looked for it for a little while, and finally found it in a lower parking lot smashed up against another building. The back was totally wrecked, so I loaded 5 people in my little toyota t-100 and drove everyone home.

Soho Books is officially closed.

I should have known this was coming... neat little stores like that have so small a chance of surviving... It was a small, unassuming store; mostly remainders... the staff was friendly and somehow knew where every book was, even in the massive jumble of books on every shelf. It was pleasantly low-tech; the staff would write the title of your purchase by hand in one of those black patterned composition notepads like the ones from school.

I would walk past it every day on the way to or from work. Out on the corrugated metal steps were a bunch of random books, divided by price: 1.98, 2.98, and 4.98. I would always stop to look, and i'd usually end up with something nifty.

After a while, it became more of a comfort, one of those things that would always be there. I tried not to take it for granted; i made sure to always at least look at the selection. But all too often, i'd say "i'll get it later". I'd occasionally miss an item, but i could usually find something else to pique my interest.

But now, there is no later.

There was a fire on Wooster Street in early January. It closed the stores on either side (both, incidentally, clothing stores), but Soho Books remained open.

In mid-March, the door was closed, and the store was empty. There was a sign on the door of the store next door
which has a snappy rhythm, doesn't it?
saying that it would reopen soon. The flag still flew over the clothing store, and the words "Soho Books" remained painted in the otherwise empty window of the bookstore.

In mid-April, the painted words had been scraped off.

Today, the windows were papered over and a sign proudly announced that the property had been rented by one of the local realtors.

I don't know what will become of that store. It's in a distressingly trendy area, so i fear it will be something upscale and pretentious that will make me shudder every time i pass.

But what bothers me the most is how sudden it was.. i was in the store two days before it closed and there was no indication of its ever leaving; no fire sale, no "everything must go", just the usual chatter with the staff.

And now it's gone, and now there's nothing to replace it. There's nothing even in the area.

Life, again, seems less bright.

Note: This is not Soho Discount Books. That is further downtown, and AFAIK still open.

"We're dating."

Never thought I would be saying that again. It still sounds strange, after 48 hours, almost half of which we've spent together.

How am I supposed to be feeling right now? Keep in mind I've only done this whole relationship thing once before. Last time, I was exhilarated and joyous. Not this time. I'm very calm, and don't feel any different, even though I know my situation has changed. Although I did catch myself singing as I walked to class this morning.

Unlike some of my classmates, who are engaged to be married to some attractive and very rich frat guys, I never wanted to be swept off my feet into a world of luxury and perpetual happiness. Although I'm a little worried about my lack of excessive emotion concerning this affair, the fact that I'm not experiencing this kind of limerance makes me think this is the real thing.

Today wasn't going well, so I decided to go walk on the beach in the mist. It's one of my ways to clear my head, de-stress, and basically get my shit together. I'm struggling with an on-line lover, a man who I fell totally and confusingly in Love with on a computer game called Everquest. For several months now, he's been sending me every message he can that it's over, he only wants me for an casual friend, and that I'm wasting my time mooning over him. But did I hear him? NOOOOOOOOOOO. I've been opening up to him, sending gifts, sharing my soul...doing all those things that lovers do, but normally BOTH parties participate. So today, on the beach, with the surf in my ears and the mist in my hair, I tried to put him on my official list of ex-es. Did it work? I doubt it.

Life's shit. Life's fucking ace you bastards. Strange how it changes so quick and back and who knows.

It was my birthday on April 30th.

Today's drug of choice is free alcohol, as it was my birthday, I posted a message at work inviting people to join me in the pub this evening. I was completely shocked when I got a turn out of around thirty. I don't get it, but I do love it.

So, had about six Guinni in the pub and then I think I pulled on the way home. Odd, but this aussie lass looked deep into my eyes, which must have been wonky as shit, and then asked me for my number on the tube home.

Green.

Ace

btw, ...25

Monday, April 30th
Catbox, around 16:00 AT (Atlantic Time) - After Hooverdirt's loud playing of La Creation du Monde (tableau 2), Ouroboros announced that the 'current violist was replaced by a saxophonist'. Aggravated by this unbelievable action, Hooverdirt immediately declared war on Ouroboros by playing Harsanyi's Le Tourbillon Mecanique.
While Ouroboros readied his propellors on a remark to find George Antheil's CDs, Hooverdirt's infantery crossed Ouroboros's borders, guided by the marching tunes from Hanns Eisler's Dans les Rues. However, Ouroboros (who appeared to know the latest Modernistic percussive tactics) commanded his forces to strike back with an evasive attack on Romanticism by heralding Hindemith's Kammerkonzertes.
After a sudden retreat of Hooverdirt's forces on Verklärte Nacht around the fields of Schoenberg, Hooverdirt's artillery fired some of Revueltas 's Sensemaya nodeshells. A sudden counterstrike from Ouroboros's Steve Reich tunes was answered with a last minute Dave Brubeckian flank attack.
Knowing that a musical warfare-expert like Ouroboros might exhaust his resources, Hooverdirt, accompanied by the last note of La Creation du Monde (which was naturally played by Ouroboros's saxophonist), finally decided to sign peace with Ouroboros. Ouroboros confirmed to close this shameless page in E2's History by announcing peace in harmony between the two Modernists and acknowledging Hooverdirt's Music-Fu.
i have the distinctly disturbing sense that i began today's daylog in yesterday's date...(/me kicks $me...hard.) it's ok. it feels like a whole different day since i've gotten home. the world is a better place when it one's stomach contains apricots and chocolate milk. still trying to find a good muscle relaxant, though. while i am now calm, my back is not. *shrug* worse things have happened. i think when i finish the paper i'm working on, i'll update my essay archive with as much of the old stuff as i can recover. maybe i'll node a couple of really prime pieces. after all, the essay on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight went over well.

kicking back now, summarizing the myth of the birth of Alexander the Great, listening to Tricky, trying to ignore my neighbor's band which is practicing loudly next door. waiting for frater shinma to show up, and possibly also my older brother, fiendish. my older brother is an odd, semi-immortal, peter pan type; he'll never grow up, and god-of-your-choice help us all if he ever does. we have enough responsible people in the family! but i run off at the fingers...

anyway, back to the books...

Well, it's official.

And, you know, I never do daylogs. I've done one dream log. One. But never a day log.

Today deserves it, though. Today I broke up with my girlfriend of almost two years. It was entirely amiable and friendly and civil; we've known this was going to happen for months now, and have just sort of been trying to deny it the whole time. So we decided to just get it over with.

We haven't really been a couple for about a month and a half now; this just makes it official. The Conversation went something like this:

"This just isn't working. Maybe we should just call an end to it."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"Okay. It was really cool while it lasted; an honor and a privelege."

"It was for me, too. Still on for game on Friday?"

"Yup."

"Cool."

That's the condensed version of about an hour of conversation, but that's more or less what it came down to. And damnit, the romantic in me rails against that. We were so in love, for so long... and it comes to this sort of anticlimax? I suppose that's infinitely preferable to the alternative -- pain and tears and screaming -- but, well, it's unaesthetic. Sane, very sane, but unaesthetic.

I shouldn't complain. So I'll stop.

It's late. I've taken some sleeping pills so that I will sleep without continually staring at the dark ceiling and worrying ... they should kick in soon ... Last day of April. The last time I logged in to E2 was in December of last year. Man, has a lot happened since then. Laid off on January 3. What a way to start off a year. I'm not exactly sure why I left E2 ... I really enjoyed it before ... it let me escape ...

I took for granted being busy. 60 - 100 hour weeks seemed outrageous and stressful. I didn't realize then that through all of the stress, I didn't have time to be bored. I didn't have time to wonder what I was doing with my life. I didn't have time to think about what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Sure, time off is fun at first. But then the money you've saved up starts to disappear, your friends move on and away, and you're left in this dark hole of confusion.

I guess things always look brighter in the morning.

Maybe I'll go stare at the ceiling for a while and pray for sleep.

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