Yes! Finally I've figured out the problem of my archive. Woo, that sounds philisophical. Well, more like a Sarah McLachlan lyric: "I am the archive of our failure."

Uh oh…I canceled dinner with David and his friends to work overtime, and he was very nonchalant about my it, more cavalier than usual. Yesterday, I kissed him goodbye as he dropped me off at Troy’s, and he gave me a peck with no emotion involved, an anti-climatic "kiss of death." I can tell that we’re going to be losing contact again – my interest waned after our first weekend back together – but unlike last time, I won’t begin to pine for him after a few months go by. I think I needed this – randomly running into him at the diner in Mission Hills, getting the first 3 numbers of his cell phone that eluded me, hanging out again – so I could obtain some closure to the whole ordeal. Yes, I say ordeal; the man is a severe alcoholic, and although he is incredibly sexy – a lumbering 6’3” with a deep, resonating voice – I can’t deal with someone who has a cocktail at 6:30 in the morning. I really cannot be with someone I don’t respect, who’s goofy in a Gomer Pyle way, reminind me of all the dorks I dispised in high school and in boot camp. Pretty strong words, but I strongly feel that this is a bad match. I can’t deal with the prejudice his friends harbor because of my and David’s age difference (note: I hope that’s grammatically correct. I tried writing ‘David and I’s age difference,’ but a first person subject with a possessive doesn’t sound too intelligent).

I’m so excited that Dee Ann wants to write an online diary like myself!! It’s a great way to see what she’s up to without ever having to talk to her – I’m kidding! Seriously, in times when I’m too busy to call (but if I’m too busy to call, how do I have the time to make frequent posts, Josh?), I can check in with her and see what Dee Ann’s new damage is ("Heathers" reference), and vice versa. She has a Masters degree in writing and loves to write, so I’m sure she’ll have witty, life-altering things to say, heheh. We met for cocktails last night and had numerous conversations on many different, sometimes fickle, subjects like, “How big do you think that guy’s dick is?” or “I bet he’s great in bed!” There was this short, cute Italian man with a goatee that kept checking me out. I was at the Loft (and later the Calyph) with Dee Ann, and she had my semi-undivided attention, but in my periperal vision, I could monitor what cute goatee man was doing. In mid conversation with Dee Ann, I heard him say, “He’s cute, but nelly.” Well then! I’ve never professed to be the epitome of masculinity, but I’m definitely not a “man of steel, heels of helium” epicene sort of guy. But his comment didn't really bother me. I felt like, "Okay fine, I'm nelly. You don't like me, fine. Hey, my loss." But the interesting thing is that he continued to cruise me. I was like, "Okay, obviously you're confused, or maybe desperate since it's me that's the object of your desire." He was so cute! I wasn't offended; this is a sign of progress for me! I'm no longer affected by people's opinion of my masculinity! Wo-hoo. Now, if only that progress to stretch into other esteem issues in my life.

I had an epiphany of sorts this morning on my way to Troy's house so he could drop me off, however, I've temporarily forgotten this self-realization. Okay, engage "train of conscious thought" writing: come on, damn! Think, think. I've always wanted to write a novel like William S. Burroughs' "Naked Lunch." I can't think of this great thought, but if I remember, I'll jot it down. It's something tacit, though, that I feel I've already taken to heart.