November 17, 1998.

"There's a little black spot on the sun today."

Another chapter of my life is over. As of this point, I'm under no more constraint to cut the naughty bits out...mostly because there won't be anymore naughty bits. Let me tell you why.

Last night Trevor called me from work, in the last few minutes of his break. Over the last weekend, he's called me as little as possible - I figured that the cutting stuff just scared/angered him, and that he'd eventually get over it. But, as I said yesterday, I've been feeling better. He mentioned something about work. I started teasing him. He took offense. We began to fight. It got ugly.

I almost cancelled my Monday night meeting with Palaver, but I figured that no matter how bad I felt, it couldn't hurt to get out with my friends. Preacher & Sven were also at the bar, so we spend a very pleasant 2 hours talking & laughing & drinking. Fresh from the fight, I felt a profound need for numbness, and quickly got on the outside of a great deal of beer in a very short time. The good time caught on gradual, and then took me over completely. When Palaver & I got to the Cave, I decided (with typical drunken cunning) that I should immediately leave an apologetic message on Trevor's cell phone. But he was in. We started talking. Earlier in the day, I'd decide to wait a week and then, if things didn't improve, I planned to propose a hiatus for a little while, just to let the stress simmer away. But I was drunk & loquacious, and I ended up suggesting it last night. He expressed a desire to give me my things back. And at that point I realized that I was breaking up over the phone again.

A Dance Cave pay phone, to be precise.

I said something quiet & reasonable, like "I'm sorry it didn't work out." He agreed. We hung up. Then I started to cry with such violence that complete strangers began asking after me. Grabbed Palaver, dragged him out & listened to him give advice until the streetcar pulled up. The tears had stopped in a minute, the alcohol had come back with full force, and I was utterly numb everywhere but my chest, which ached dully.

Then there was a very long phone call, when I found out that it wasn't a passing whim on his part. That, in fact, he stopped loving me sometime last week. The numbness abated, and was able to be properly hysterical. Phrases like "I thought you were The One" didn't help. Well, you know what a breakup is like. It was like that. Only with me in place of you.

So, that's it. There isn't anymore to say, maybe forever. This diary began 2 days after my breakup with Mr. Blonde, perhaps it's fitting to end it here. Then again, I may feel better tomorrow. It seems unlikely, but everything about my life is unlikely.

Goodbye.