Since some of my posts were deleted, I've been paying decidedly less- and decidedly not enough- attention to this place. It seems now somehow foreign that I would sit in front of this screen and write till the post was pages long, and maybe I'll build up the strength and courage to do that again, maybe I won't. Way gives onto way...or something like that- anyhow, I'm making a reference to the fact that Casey and I have decided to start a site vaguely akin to Something Awful and The Onion, except that it should be, by our own protest, nothing at all like them and just our writing. I however, don't have as much faith in that protest as he seems to. We're also planning on dragging Ben into this by his toenails- When we started planning, we decided against telling Ben at all until we had it all set up, and then just let him know he should send us some stuff. Ben is impossible to work with in even the simplest endeavors- he's agreeable enough, he would just never actually do anything, and therein lies the problem. He is currently aware of the project and has no objections for it, but for the first month or so, Casey and I expect just to copy and paste some of the posts from his many failed blogs to use as content. As for mine and his, I will be posting something almost identical to the Newsletter, except that it's, well, worldliness and marketability should be vastly improved (IE, hopefully it won't be just me bitching about acting female anymore). Casey...well, Casey's rather un-established in what kind of work he'll be contributing to our little efforts, but I have enough faith (albeit blind) in his abilities to grant him, unabashed, all the room he needs to work in- free-range Casey. Mmmm-mmmm good.

Now all we have to do is do the writing and design the site before we can launch our little ship of dreams. Oh, and name it. Anybody got any ideas for a name? Left up to Casey and I (and, *ahem* Ben), this thing will haphazardly be named something like "the haphazardly named site...ah, fuck, we can do better than that!" Your input is vital.

I was inspired to post today by an e-mail I received from a fellow Ahernite (which is, for the record, what we called ourselves out west), Rachel. While we all boasted of our mutual love out there, Rachel is one of few that I might have actually liked in a different setting. I wonder now, directly after having written that, if it is a fair assertion (and moreso if any of the others will ever see this post)- suffice to say that Rachel was one of the four I found myself really bonding with, and of those four, she... well, she glowed. I make no secret, anymore, of the way I felt about her over there- a vulnerable time for me, an environment where everyone was taking off their clothes and touching each other, and the single most breathtaking creature in California, who's first words to me were raspy and whispered into my unsuspecting ear "Wanna be Reiki'd?"- I was fucked.

Casey, Jeff, and Zack have all heard equal amounts about the Angel of Ahern's, (So nicknamed for the Angel wing tatoos on her shoulders which continue to haunt my subconscious like faint memory of what it was to have faith in God himself) or perhaps not equal, exactly- Understandably, there were details I kept from Zack. I felt every need not to be dishonest, though, and told him quite frankly that if I ever got the oppurtunity to go anywhere with this girl, I had no idea what I would do. Even now that she's safely out of my peripheal vision by 3,000 miles, I find myself openly questioning it, and letting him know that I still have no idea what would have happened. Fending off the stupid come-ons by idiot co-workers or the occasional tension with a used-to-be-love is one thing, but there's only so much a person can do when under the spell of the Apple of Discord's rightful owner. The situation never arose that I would have had the ability to deviate from my makeshift devotion to the one I was coming home to, as I knew it wouldn't, but the implications of my potential willingness to hurt him puzzled me, and from time to time, they still puzzle me. I have to remind myself, though, that nothing happened, that all is well on Olympus and on Earth, and there's no use questioning it- I am still in love with Zack, and my correspondence with Rachel has been reduced to the occasional phone call or e-mail- not that I take these for granted in any way, her latest e-mail leaves me smiling and sighing all at once:

"thomas sent us wind chimes. i hung mine out on the little balcony i have at the apartment i am subletting in oakland overlooking a major street in the vietnamese auto-shop ghetto south of the lake. during the day when a breeze pushes through i can hear the chimes barely audible over the prostitutes arguing about their territory of our corner. good fung shui."

So, for now, I shall write her back, and maintain the friendship that I have a right to and the distant admiration that I don't- inspite of the fact that I'll probably never see her again, and not because I have a chance, and not because that matters: simply because every angel deserves a prayer, every goddess deserves a temple, and every girl deserves someone to tell her how beautiful she is, over and over again. Granted, I'm sure Rachel has more than her share, but still, let it be known- every insecurity she's ever had is irrational, every rejection she's ever gotten was blind, and every different way her face rests is a masterpiece. And she's beautiful, she's beautiful, she's beautiful.

On with it.

Heheheh...now I remember what I missed about the east coast...

(Copied and pasted into conversation with PF2) ME: you're so cute
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: Cute as in the olson twins in their younger years, or cute as in a mildly older teenage girl coyly sucking on a lollipop?
ME: cute as in the olson twins, mildly older, coyly sucking on lollipops
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: I'd tap that ass.
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: Unfortunately the problem with that is there's a sign next to them "You must be under 18 to ride this ride." Which kinda sucks you know.
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Just get them to South Carolina.
ME: in maine, they only have to be sixteen
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: I thought Maine was 17, for some odd reason.
ME: No, sixteen...
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Yep, you're right.
ME: ageofconsent.com?
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Hawaii and Idaho are 14. :P
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Nah, www.webistry.net
ME: I'm getting nothing.....a web design place
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: http://www.webistry.net/jan/consent.html
ME: oooo, conneticut. close and young.
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: *chuckles*
ME: .....oh my god
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: 18 is in the minority by far.
ME: in mississippi, the female only needs to be twelve, so long as she's not a virgin
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Holy shit.
ME: so so long as some 15-year-old pervert has gotten to her already, Mr. Roger's can have his way with little Mary Lou.
ME: or, in this case, little Mary Kate
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: hehehe

Meanwhile....
ME: Idaho and Hawaii are 14
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: *Is gonna move to Idaho or Hawaii*


I LOVE THESE PEOPLE! On with it.

Tonight was good.

I take back any bullshit I ever wrote complaining about the way people were in middle school. Fucking meaningless bullshit.

And tonight was good.

I've been having dreams that things were better this whole time...but the deal was, the whole ordeal was one big nightmare. It feels like I get to wake up now.

On with it.

Fucking Aye!

Whatever blowhole is responsible for deleting the two posts that you can see are gone has deleted seven others, including my Mike-the-German conversation post. I have reason to believe this has been going on for a while, as there is a post that's missing that I wrote a long time ago- back then, I hadn't noticed the trend of the (bigbody) tag on a series of deleted posts, but I hadn't noticed the lack of tags, either.

Did that make sense? I have no idea....I'm fairly paralyzed with rage....or something.

At any rate, we'll see if this bastard gets me any longer, with a brand new, never-before-used password....I challenge you, big-bodied hacker, to figure this one out. And any of you who might, for whatever reason, have any of the missing posts saved, let me know.

On with it.

Take the What Cookie Are You? test by Ley


Oh yuh. That was worth my time. And yours, I'm sure.

On with it.

So, the good, the bad, and the ugly-

The Good-
-In between the time when I got online and checked Zack's new site, which he may or may not want linked to, the first time and just now, he had posted about a letter I sent him and how good it made him feel. The way he describes it makes me glow- if I believed in auras, like my classmates, mine would be radiating right now. Damn, love can be sweet.
-It's a really, really gorgeous day out here in California, and I have taken the initiative to take it off. You'll find out why in a moment.

The bad-
-Somebody seems to have hacked into my site and deleted two of my entries, as you will see from the two blank ones below. I may or may not be able to restore them from cookies when I get home, but even if I can, I am left with a fucked-up taste in my mouth, especially if my suspicions of the possible perpetrator are confirmed.
-Evidently, I've lost my previous knowledge of how to spell the words "suspicions" and "perpetrator".
-Sense I don't feel like reliving the moment again, as it would damper my bright mood, I'll just quote what I said on Frank's pit about it earlier. Ha-ha, this could be dangerous, as I let all my anger fly on the pit, being that it's the pit, and that's what it's there for, so this could be viewed as rather derogatory towards my classmates, should they ever take a look-see. But everything I say on the pit, and on here, and in real life even, should be taken with understanding that I am a writer and a drama queen, and with a grain of salt, as I've said on numerous occasion, because I taste better that way. If one does not get that...well...their loss, at this point.
"I was trying my damndest to put a leash on my cynicism, so as not to take away from the tree-hugging tai-chi freaks' meaningful experiences: if they can suspend their disbelief and walk around in a stupid haze, more power to them. But it's begun to ge the best of me, and let me make it clear- I want out. And I tried to cover that up, tried not to say anything, but when the teacher ASKED me what was wrong, I told him. And he, in an uncharacteristically bastardly way, told me I was pitying myself and ruining the mood of the rest of the class. Notably, I had been otherwise completely silent, trying to avoid getting anyone else involved in my so-called "self-pity" ("self-preservation", I called it in defense, for a down-to-earth atheist such as myself when jammed into a place where god-loving reiki practioneers float around on clouds, touching each other all day long). I told him that despite everything,I only meant to spare myself from them and spare them from me at the same time, and that my intentions were always good. I was crying by then, because these motherfucking ahernites have gotten under my skin, but he persued anyway- "Not always." he said.

So I'm taking the day off. Maybe the rest of the week...my flight is soon, I might just let it ride till then...we'll see how it goes."
And that's what happened. I may go back to class, I may not. The "may not" sounds appetizing. I've had it up to here ^ with learning about this psycho-somatic bullshit for the criminally optomistic. I'm ready to go home and lay in Zack's arms again, and maybe not do anything else at all for a damn long time.

The Ugly-
-Richard Simmons and friends. As if you needed me to tell you.

Until later, my sweet readers, I am off to enjoy the good- Zack's, and the California sun, and the hope of returning to a place much colder, but much more wonderfully cynical. Ah, how I have become well-versed with the meaning of the words "home sweet home". Especially if you were to add a swear in there somewhere.

On with it.

I have just experienced the cutest thing in the world- a mother and her children are running around Sierra Tel- the little internet access place I'm currently in- doing the mother's errands. Upon hearing that it is the birthday of one of the daughters, Tom, the little, adorable mustached man who runs this place gave the little girl a package, telling her that it was for her. She looked at it quizzically and he explained that it's a brush for cleaning off her computer screen.

I had to mention that. Possibly more soonish.

On with it.

So, evidently I said I'd be here till the 28th, which is very untrue. I should be home roughly ten days earlier than that, it's not all entirely clear now.

I am sitting in the Sierra Tel business center, which has internet access for ten dollars an hour. I love the way the keyboard clicks and, other than a very lengthy favor I have to do for my sophomore friends, I have nothing to do today, so I may very well come back later and come online for another hour, but we'll see how that goes.

Things haven't been bad here, just weird. I'll explain it all, probably, when I come home, but for now, I have toplan a trip down to la, as it's my week off. More zany adventures for you to read about. Hooray!

On with it.

"Maybe I'm lonely
And that's all I'm qualified to be."

I leave him sleeping in my bed, maybe just awake enough to know that I'm going, and I come downstairs to start this. I don't know who it's to yet, I don't know when I will, but I know that I need to right it, and that, as scared as I am, I can't just sit there in bed and watch another person who is either unwilling to acknowledge the fearfulness of the next month and a half or, worse, not fearful at all as my heart breaks. It felt that way, really it did, like I couldn't stand to sit there any longer.

This isn't how I envisioned our last night together, not before a break like this. Part of me, ego I suppose, wants more to be insulted that he could fall asleep tonight, without my genuine consent- albeit, I told him to, but I also told him I wouldn't be able to sleep, that I'd be awake thinking about things. I told him how I felt Jeff was the only person acknowledging my departure the way I need somebody I to acknowledge it: like it's fucking huge, because it is. Like it matters, like it's a big, scary step. Like they're afraid to live without me, to miss me horribly, the way I'm afraid to miss all of them. Okay, it's a relatively short time. And it's possible that they're playing it down to make me feel better. But...fuck, it's just not working.

The stubs in my ears- the type of earphones I hate- are playing "I'd Do Anything For Love", which, in combination with "Objects in the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are" is part of a series of songs by Meatloaf that I'm rediscovering, along with that morsel of sentiment and youth that, without this music, I might have lost completely. Oh, and he's telling her now that he can do all of the things she's asking, he's pledging his love, he's assuring her that she's worth it- something I never know about myself- he's making promises, he's being sure of himself, of his love. I keep hearing little walking noises in the background, I keep hating it's Zack, up and worried about me, having sensed that maybe he should be, coming to find me, coming to rescue me from the sad fate of writing it all out. Albeit, a fate I need, a fate that's part of me in a way I can't imagine a rescue ever being. But it's not him, never is, and the part of my mind that makes up these frivolous expectations burns a little, or, my heart, it must be my heart. I'd like to think my mind is better than this.

I don't mind that I'm rambling. I think there's something to be said about a writer rambling. Shows how much emotion is going into it, how many thoughts and feelings are tumbling all over each other. Shows that the writer is human, not just a writer. The stubs are onto "Objects in the rearview..." now, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to put this on my site, rather than send it to anyone: Casey, or Jeff, or Mr. Ladd, who did not inform me he would be missing or last appointment. Chad, even, or Mitch, just somebody. Somebody I could trust this part of myself with. I'm so eager to trust myself to people. Elorza, maybe. This song is so amazing, but I'm still thinking about the other one- the way Jeff and I were singing it, screaming it even, in his car the last time he saw me, but more later, in the back office of Burger King, where it was very illegal for Zack to be with me, and the way I was mouthing all the words, or even singing them, and he didn't do or say anything, except at the end, in response to my singing the woman's line "Sooner or later you'll be screwing around.", he mouthed "I won't do that." It was perfect the way he did it just then, the way I...wanted to believe that the song, the relevance, the moment made it infallibly true. How can one person blow away all expectations you could possibly imagine of them in one moment, then sleep through them all in another?

How can he make me feel so loved and then leave me to feel so alone? This isn't his fault, this isn't his fault, this is me, why didn't I tell him I needed him to be with me that way tonight? I keep hoping the way this is going to end is him waking up to find me gone, realizing that he wants to know where I am, how I am, if I'm alright, if I'm crying- I'm so surprised I'm not yet, I was earlier, watching him sleep, stifling it, because I feel so unworthy of crying to any one person so many times in one week- and I could just cut this all off, and it could be blissfully abrupt happily-ever-after. Six weeks after, as this is the last thing you all have to go on until I make my triumphant return from California, probably.

Maybe that's why I needed to write it so badly. Maybe that's why fate let him sleep. Maybe it's all predestined, or at least it's somehow less terrible than it seems, because this is my big accomplishment. Writing is the only thing that ever lets me sleep when I feel like this, it seems. Writing and I, we're the couple, everything and everyone else is just details. That's such bullshit.

And ELORZA IS NOT WORTHLESS. There is NOTHING in this world worth what he is, and there is NOTHING in this world I wouldn't give to prove that to him. Take the words from my pen, my screen, my mind right now, but let him know that there's nothing so satisfying in the world as a smile that he gives me, and that if he's half the man to anyone else as he is to me, who only gets a fraction of him, in theory, than he can go anywhere, be anything, and have the hearts of the world breaking for him everywhere; have the hearts of the world never regret it, just as I never did. And, goddamn it, I wish I could get it proven that I love him, I wish I could write it down on a piece of paper and have it notarized and send it to him, and I wish that would make me worth all the things to him I can't be from so far away. And I wish against wish against wish against wish that he could just admit to reading this, if he does, and let me know that he did, and tell me how it made him feel- even if it was anger or disgust, just tell me. I'm scared, I'm so scared for California, but if I had just one e-mail from him in my inbox when I returned, nothing that happened there could make it not worth it.

"The mystery and the muscle of love." Jim Steinman, the guy who writes all of Meatloaf's songs, evidently, is amazing. There's hardly anything I relate to specifically in this song, but he makes me relate to all of it. Like Jack Vettriano- the book Jeff got me says that Jack Vettriano can make you feel sentimental for things you never actually experienced, and it's so true, and the present WAS perfect, a thousand times more perfect than he made it out to be in the first place, the best thing I got this year- aside from the blanket my uncle gave me. I'll be so glad to come home to that blanket.

I haven't even left, already I'm homesick. Why is the only one here to listen to this a website?

You'd better all be reading this. You'd better be feeling it and wishing you could help it, you'd better see my address now and do something about it. You'd better write and ask how I'm doing and draw little happy faces on the letter and tell me how much you love me, or just how much you really like me if you don't love me, and pretend to miss me or genuinely miss me, and make me believe it's not just because I told you to. Condescend to make me feel valued, fight your apathy and stoicism, like Casey did- because he shouldn't even have to take care of me as often as he does, where are the rest of you when he's the one putting me in his profile, telling me he'll miss me or saying the shirts or quoting my website? Where are you when I'm relying on someone I barely know and already love inalienably- god, I love everyone I love inalienably...all on different levels though.

Jeremey, Jeremey's the ultimate inalienable love in my life. But I'm starting to move on from him- it's rickety and it's hard and it's dangerous and have bruises from the places I've slipped and fell trying to make this one great big step forward, and where ARE YOU ALL to wipe the dirt off of me face? Where ARE YOU to congratulate me? And why haven't you started that letter to me yet? I'm talking to you.

I'm experimenting with different songs on this CD- be my rock and roll dreams, and come through for me when I really really need it the most. When I go upstairs to my bed, Zack will already be asleep. It's so very lonely trying to fall asleep next to someone who's already there, because you know that you're very much aware of them, but they're completely oblivious to you- that's a pretty good metaphor for most of my relationships.

WAKE UP TO ME. GET OUT THOSE DAMN ENVELOPES. I'M TELLING YOU, RIGHT NOW, I NEED YOU TO. DON'T THINK FOR A SECOND THAT THIS MIGHT NOT APPLY TO YOU. DON'T THINK THAT YOU CAN'T HELP TO SPARE ME SOME OF WHAT I'M FEELING. THAT'S A MOTHERFUCKING COP-OUT. YOU HAVE AN OPPURTUNITY, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, TO DO SOMETHING FOR SOMEONE ELSE. TAKE THAT OPPURTUNITY.

Am I even awake anymore? Yes. I don't even know if I'm tired. I'll leave in my stubs while trying to fall asleep. I won't have to be aware of him at all. And I'll get to wake up next to him. For the last time...bastard.

This isn't his fault, this isn't his fault, this isn't his fault- I tried to tell him what I needed, and I failed. But I'm telling you all very, very clearly right now. It won't be my fault if I don't get a reaction. I'm making this very clear.

I hate having to do it this way. I hate how often I have to do it this way. I hate how often I have something that I have to deal with at all- it's like, my whole life long, no matter what's on the table for me, I have to go and find a reason to freak out every now and again. Whatever they serve up- I can't just let it all go down like turkey bacon....Ha! If this were ever going to be a classic, it just lost it's universality in that one phrase. "Turkey Bacon."

Do me a favor and have them edit that for me. I deserve the admiration. I deserve a lot. I deserve a letter.


Linda H.
c/o Ahern's Massage Therapy School
P.O. Box 673
Mariposa, California 95338

January 4th through February 28th



"Maybe I'm crazy
But it's crazy and it's true
I know you can save me
No one else can save me now but you."
~Meatloaf, "I'd Do Anything for Love"


On with it.

Tonight, as so many others, has been one of ups and downs- far more ups than downs, in fact, really only one noteable down, but we'll cover all our bases in a moment. First, an apology- the last time I tried to update my blog was my last day of employment at Burger King- as of, well, a while ago now, I am officially unemployed, and almost blissfully so. I quit to give myself time to enjoy my the holiday return of my friends before I jet off to California in January, an event that is approaching entirely too quickly for my liking. My last night, I wrote a long, probably almost touching entry, and then the Burger King computer ate it. One last insult to add to a big, long injury. But, as far as employers go, BK was my best, out of two, and I shall miss it. Now out of the past, and onto the present.

The day started out, if we count from midnight, with Kris (who is spending the weekend here), Zack and I on a futon, totally wasted from the hour- you know that time, where you laugh at everything whether it's funny or not? It had been too long since I'd experienced it, but we made up for that, just me and two of the best men I'll ever know. From that time, I must report, came the quote of the day-

Zack: (Talking about the top of a pumpkin-shaped flashlight...type thing) Hmmmm...my fingers are ins a pumpkin.
Kris: (Talking about me.) It's rude to call her that.
Linda: Hey! *Hits Kris* Shut up. I'm prettier than a pumpkin.
Kris: Yes. At least, until midnight.
Linda: But it's after midnight.
Kris: We know.

At this point, I commenced climbing on top of him and beating him mercilessly. Sometime after that, Kris retired to my room and Zack and I...uh, eventually slept. We woke up together...eventually got up, and got kris out of bed. Zack ate leftover chinese from the day before, Kris had some sort of nutrient shake, and I had a traditional breakfast of turkey bacon and honeycomb. Sometime after a stint of Zack taping random objects to my pants, the three of us got into a milk and water fight. Kris showered, Zack left, and Kris and I played Super Monkey Ball 2 on his gamecube until Kris got hungry. I showered and then we went out to get more chinese food, as well as supplies for the ensuing get together.

In theory, it would have been everyone- Kris, Chad, Nick, Ben, Casey and I, but no one really thought Chad would show, and Ben (who the date was set around) had to cancel last minute due to a "family event", also popularly called "unscheduled nookie." This left Nick to pick up Casey, who was kept late at the salt mill (Calendar Store), so Nick arrived, sans our fourth. I panicked as to Casey's whereabouts, as Nick and Casey had merely missed each other, with no explanation, then we ate, then I panicked some more. Ultimately, we got in touch with Casey and he drove down on his own, at least as far as McDonald's, where we met him, and we came home to my house to spend the first two hours fast-forwarding to the good scenes of "Original Sin". I don't know how this activity managed to take up more of our time than watching the actual movie would have, but somewhere in there that we established that Casey's sexual interest was vested in Antonio Banderas rather than Angelina Jolie, mine in some Nuns, Nick's in a football from my floor, and Kris in the three of us. Casey was wearing a shirt with a place to add velcro letters that I just happened to own, so I wrote out "ANTONIO" with a heart on it- this bears mention because our next endeavor, after searching a movie for nipples (which we realized was pathetic soon after the fact) was to go outside and attempt to play football in my yard, in December, at night. We lost the football in some of the trees, and as I was taking a flashlight to search for it, who should come by but our neighborhood's friendly law enforcement, a woman who called us all up to her car to ask what we were up to. We explained we were playing football in my yard, and she asked each of our names- I shined a light on each of them as they told her, and she asked if we had been involved in any white supremacy-related violence in the area. We told her that we hadn't, of course, but I think our silent testimony- namely Casey's "*Heart* ANTONIO" shirt was what really redeemed us.

Just in case it never happens to you, if you're outside playing football with three of your geeky male friends from Auburn, and the worst felony between the four of you is pretending to be of age to get into porn sites, and a cop asks you if you've been involved in any racist violence in the area, let me tell you- it is so difficult not to laugh in said cop's face.

After that we gave up the search for the football and just started to play tackle, which resulted in Casey and I running for our dear lives away from the combined tonnage of Nick and Kris (no offense to them, of course), and after sustaining multiple injuries, we went inside. I had intended for us to read the new parts of a play about my friends that Andrew and I have just begun to start writing again, after a year of hiatus, but I could not find the diskette and only managed to crack a lightbulb among the chaos of my room, making it even more hazardous than it was, so Casey and I messed with people on my buddy list as Kris and Nick played a rousing game of kerplunk, then positions switched, then eventually we all grew bored of everything. I don't know, somewhere around their Nick and Casey left...but I've somehow missed the essence of the evening. I miss hanging out with a group, especially that group. Tonight was the highlight of my month, I think, what with all our hijinks and catting around. I can't explain how good it feels to laugh when all your friends are laughing with you, or to look at Angelina Jolie's breasts bounce with Antonio Bandera's momentum while sandwiched between the roused laps of three of your male friends, or to be interrogated for possible involvement in a racist crime while standing next to a guy in a "*Heart* ANTONIO" shirt. Kris's persistent, obnoxious humor, Nick's undying criticism of Lisbon, and Casey's uncanny timing and humor made tonight wonderful. So good to hang out with old friends, and absolutely delightful to start so well with new ones. If every night could be this good, I wouldn't be going through the bored-out-of-my-mind pre-midlife crisis that I am. I need more nights like this one, and very little else.

It wasn't all good, though. After Nick and Casey left, I got to talking to Kris about certain stresses I've had on me lately, as well as one thing I'm not accustomed to dealing with- regret. Regret isn't something I've believed in in the past, having a "what's done is done" attitude going on, but tonight, I indulged in a little shameful self-loathing, and expressed some things to Kris that I've been reluctant to talk about with anyone else, but things that I've needed to get off of my chest. I talked and he listened with unparalleled attention and concern, and- this was the thing I appreciated- the moment my voice cracked, the very same moment, he got up from his chair and kneeled before me and held me to him as I cried. It had been a long time since I'd cried to anyone other than Zack. I needed to do it. And the way he was there for me- the way he promised that he always would be, and he gave me his word that things would get better for me, that it would work out- it was wonderful. Kris is wonderful.

How I've lived so long with all these people far away from me is beyond my imagination, but I'm grateful to have them back, if only for a short time. Perhaps I'll get to see them again between now and the time I'm leaving on a jet plane, perhaps not...but if not, when we get the oppurtunity again, it's going to rock.

I'd like to end on a more impressive, satisfying note than "it's going to rock", but it's almost four AM, and lucidity escapes me as quickly as my talent with words does. So, let that be all for tonight, because tonight isn't one of those nights where I'll go to sleep, wondering why I let another day waste. And that's good enough for me.

On with it.