*i am tired. dragging my soul behind me, tired. 2001-12-13 11:55 p.m.*

perhaps a large part of my problems stem from the fact that i stay up far past the hour that i start getting really tired. but at the hour i start getting really tired, my bed depresses the hell out of me. i can't even attempt it until i know i'm going to just fall in it into sleep. i just finally took everything off of the side of the bed i don't like to sleep on that's accumulated since tuesday. it was mainly because i was having a panic thing about the rocking mixtapes jennifer connelly made for me. and sure enough, there they were balled up in a piece of blanket. not sure how that happened, but the tapes are safe and sound and found.

i'm trying not to set myself up for a bad break, but everyday, a new thing will dawn on me. today it was how long it actually will be till i see anyone besides john, and my mom on christmas itself. three weeks. i wish there were some mandatory "come back before isp and play with nesrop" days. not really. i don't want to impinge on anyone else's breaks, but i'd just like to be with my friends in some sort of stress-free environment for a short time, at least.

today at work i was so twitchy. i felt like that kid in high school who would set fire to things. i was not really at all disruptive, but i was playing with everything, and spacing off, and it was not a good scene. and for some reason, like a return to when i was fresh from breakup, my brain could not stop wandering back to good relationship times. my brain can just bite me.

this leads to two questions. why must my brain keep going back to these things and dwelling on them. i don't consciously believe that we are "meant for each other" or soulmates or anything like that, i can recognize so many reasons why it's good or at least necessary that we broke up, but i miss the good times atrociously. i definitely break up the relationship into two parts in my brain. the good times and the bad times. and the good times still feel like the way that they were supposed to be, the essence of our relationship, that kind of thing, and the bad times were completely random and in a vacuum the good times would have continued. i fixate on this as my brain goes back over and over again to that week when i visited her and we had each other to ourselves. i can't think of a better week in my life. and perhaps there's a level of romanticizing it in light of everything since, but it doesn't help make sense of the time since then. the other question is why i feel compelled to write about this stuff over and over again, particularly here. i never feel purged anymore by these things. i still nurse my sad possessively when it's done. and then... people read this. perhaps that's getting past-tense. i'm not sure who is interested in my self-pity at this point, besides a handful of people, and one of these people is the focus of a lot of this grumbling. it's an odd mix of guilt for posting it in such a broad venue, but also i feel like it sort of neutralizes things. these are all things that float through my head during the day, and that's what this diary is. i never write things just because i know she will read them, though it feels less confrontational than directly telling her all the pain i have. the things that i've had to talk to her about specifically, i've told her, otherwise the stuff that goes here is general venting only. i'm definitely conscious that she reads things here, and sometimes i direct them to her, but they're somehow different and less threatening (to her) than direct statements in my mind. but as i said, there is this awareness and guilt for posting all our everything here. and of course, this is all very meta, because she will most likely read this as well. perhaps in some ways this is an apology, without the over-repeated "i'm sorry," that feels like my mantra.

this entry was started with the hope that it would finally be a positive entry. nothing really bad happened, today, some comfy time was had at the bay with jennifer connelly, contemplating globules and strange seagulls, and there were surprise mixtapes from her in my mailbox, work was not hellish. i hoped to spring board from a mellow mood into a happy entry, but here it is sad again.

and yes, i've been aware of this weird clinical shift in my writing style. what's that about?

(link: an erotic art museum. mainly heterosexual, but i think it's an interesting site. i always forget that i have it on my favorites list, like most of my favorites, actually. my favorite is the drawing of john going down on yoko. what does that say about me?)

addendum: 12:59am. i saw young jesus today, as we were crossing the overpass in opposite directions. before me was another of his friends, and i just creeped in for a hug, and he said, "hey baby," and gave a laugh. it was funny, because he said it in this sort of automatic way, like that was his usual greeting for me, but then the sexual or whatever implications hit us both and it was funny.)

*listening to: *
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