Little Argument With Myself

Someone is reading my journal. All of it, too. I've had hundreds of hits in the last couple of days. All I know is that this person uses AOL, and that my URL was emailed to them on a hotmail account. Is it the Ninja?

Ryan?

Speaking of whom, yesterday I received two books from Amazon that were sent to me by my recent guest. The surprise was so pleasant, and I can't wait to get started with my new reads.

A friend of mine had a birthday yesterday so we went to the Vid.

I was drinking my Jim slowly until I got a flirty bartender who surged me into attention-seeking mode which nearly convinced me to flirt with a Mike - and I did, briefly, which earned me a hug goodnight and an invitation to hang out again - and completely enabled me to flirt with an Alex - which earned me an invitation for Italian food and the Office Lounge - until I stumbled all the way home but not before stopping in front of Sports to get ribs where I found me some lovely young southern black men to flirt with while Amelia and Rachelle giggled about me. I got home, puked, and slept all day.

Funny thing, I never got ill during my bender.

So despite the 8 or 9 glasses of Jim I drank I still felt a little sad.

Today I feel a little sad.

Like it's all sinking in, and I'm having to mourn this unexpected outcome. He apologized for "hurting my feelings" and I corrected him by saying there were no feelings to hurt (I wish I could interpret the look on his face then). That statement was true, but lacks in explanatory power. It wasn't as simple as "action x caused reaction y", which is what "hurt feelings" seem to imply to me. But there is something to complain about, I just don't quite know what.

In the last two weeks there had been no "sad" because I was too angry. The anger has been expressed, and is gone now.

What remains is the Woman I created, the one who stands up between me and the outside world and decides how I should interact. She's the tough one, who does the "right thing". She rarely listens to what I desire. She's not doing a very good job at listening to how I feel about her performance Friday night, either.

Unfortunately, though, she is the one who does all the typing, so I can't even write about it without her permission.

I have to call him for help on this math homework, though, because it's killing me.

I wish I had a tv to watch football on right now.